Lineage VII
by ruth baulding
Summary: AU! Jedi Apprentice. BOOK 7: Sent to the aid of their fellow Jedi on a disastrous mission to New Apsolon, master and apprentice contend with brainwashing, genocide, conspiracy, and the perilous realm of the heart.
1. Chapter 1

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Qui-Gon Jinn peered critically into the depths of the mirror, noting that what had once qualified as a scattered premature silvering, the subtle dusting of maturity upon a still undiminished strength, had in the course of these last five years expanded its initially timid reconnaissance into full-fledged conquest. His beard, in short, was showing undeniable streaks of grey.

He set about trimming the hairs to a neat and orderly length, reflecting that he _was_ over fifty standard years old, and Jedi or not, a man with more than his share of harrowing adventures under his belt. An ordinary mortal might by this time have had his hair bleached to shocking white by some of Qui-Gon's more memorable escapades and narrow escapes… or, more to the point, by the trials and tribulations of raising his present Padawan.

Yes. That would explain it, he decided. The encroaching signs of age were indisputably to be laid to Obi-Wan's account.

Not that the Jedi master particularly felt his age. Indeed, just home from a ten-day jaunt to the pristine world of Ragoon IV on recreational leave with his apprentice, his heart was full of the glories of the Living Force and his energetic step had more than even his habitual spring to it. He almost whistled as he worked, the joy of a new dawn kindling in his veins. It had been a most refreshing trip, even if Obi-Wan had seen fit to grumble about his numerous itching insect bites during the greater part of their journey home. The older man had eventually offered him an ultimatum: visit the healers, make use of the traditional Wookiee "hacha-liniment" they had purchased in the last spaceport, or hold his tongue. The remainder of the flight had passed in blessed silence, punctuated only by the young Jedi's occasional bout of violent scratching.

Contented with his handiwork, Qui-Gon neatly replaced the tools in their pouch and cleaned up the counter space. His daily routine would start with private meditation, and then tea.

On the way out, he paused to open his Padawan's bedroom door and rap smartly on the doorframe. "Good morning," he addressed the sprawling twist of blankets and limbs upon the low sleep-mattress. "Your turn in the 'fresher."

He strode into the larger common area to prepare a delicate brew of silpa leaves and dried hatha blossoms, ignoring the muttered imprecations against early mornings, insects, and the Sithly universe in general that sounded behind him as his groggy apprentice shuffled across the hall. The phrase _blasted auroraphile _ echoed briefly in the 'fresher's tiled interior before the door slid shut with a tart and emphatic _whoosh.._

"Brat," the tall man murmured, placidly crumbling the aromatic tea into its ceramplast pot.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi peered blearily into the depths of the mirror, scratching absently at a vexatious insect-bite just under his left collarbone. His entire chest and belly – and by the feel of it, his back as well – were a mess of raised bumps and welts left by lamentably ill-disciplined scratching. "Stars' end," he groused. And that wasn't the worst of it. Ragoon IV was a place of unsullied natural splendor – a ravishingly beautiful world unspoiled by colonization or the slightest taint of permanent sentient occupation. It was also, correspondingly, free of certain conveniences of civilization; which meant that every time the inevitable demands of nature had to be met, one exposed oneself to a _most_ pernicious form of attack by the bloodthirsty insectoid denizens of the teeming, verdant world. There was much a Jedi could tolerate with equanimity, but this particular nuisance was, so to speak, hitting below the belt.

He relieved himself, breathing a silent prayer of thanks to the Force for all the gleamingly sterile accoutrements of high culture that he habitually took for granted, and then turned to the matter of personal grooming.

Nearly a fortnight of roughing it had not permitted much time or opportunity for personal vanity. And the result was….

Well. It was intriguing. He ran a hand over the somewhat prickly fringe of reddish gold that had sprouted on his jawline and upper lip, brows rising slowly as he noted that the new growth was gratifyingly thick and perhaps even dense enough to count as a real, genuine _beard. _And high time, too – he was nearly eighteen standard after all, and secretly dismayed at his seemingly ingrained penchant for being a "late bloomer." This was an encouraging sign.

He leaned closer, forgetting the discomfort induced by the innumerable insect bites adorning his hide. Master Qui-Gon _was_ a renegade, not particularly attached to the minor aspects of the Temple's codified precepts of conduct, including those governing personal appearance. And the tall Jedi was bearded like the pard himself, was he not? Surely he would see the obvious diplomatic benefit of having an apprentice whose solemn demeanor was not ruined by the appearance of _dimples_ upon every slight provocation of humorous circumstance. It was a matter of the greater good. Obi-Wan practiced one or two stern looks in the mirror, pleased by the unwonted air of ferocity his new decoration lent. Unfortunately, his amusement issued into an involuntary smile… and there were the infernal dimples again, peeking through their new camouflage.

_Blast it._

A hard rapping on the 'fresher door reminded him to get a move on. "Tea," came Qui-Gon's laconic summons to the new day's ritual beginning.

Sighing regretfully, he fished out a shaving tool and dutifully set to work.

* * *

Meditation. Extended kata practice. Very late breakfast. Trip to Archives to upload data gathered on Ragoon IV for Master Pertha's abstruse biological researches. Meditation again. Sparring. Brief rest, and observation of junior initiate saber drills. More sparring. Shower rooms. Walk in arboretum. And, finally, evening meal.

"A busy day," Tahl Uvain remarked dryly, leaning heavily on Obi-Wan's arm as he escorted her into the upper level refectory.

"From a certain point of view," her gracious companion replied, adroitly disguising her momentary stumble as his own clumsy attempt to avoid a jutting table's corner.

Behind them, a Force-borne flare of suspicion and concern told them that Qui-Gon Jinn had not been deceived.

"Find us a seat before your master goes into cardiac arrest," Tahl commanded, tugging on the Padawan's arm.

"Here, master…" He eased her onto the nearest bench, suppressing his own pang of worry at the palpable tremor in her hands. She had lost weight, too; the belt cinching her tunics and tabards about her slim waist hung loosely; her prominent cheekbones were a trifle _too_ defined.

Qui-Gon's blue eyes betrayed a soft and aching vulnerability behind his tranquil exterior, and then he was gone, to fetch food for the three of them.

Tahl sighed. "Don't let him ask the healers, Obi-Wan. I've put a privacy seal on all my records just to keep him out."

The young Jedi frowned. "But… I thought…"

She grasped his knee beneath the table. "You'll understand, in time. And I can tell you have a morose look on your face, so wipe it off and tell me something cheerful about your expedition to Ragoon."

Cheerful. Yes, cheerful. "Well, I've survived being nearly eaten alive by swarms of tisska flies and gaarsh gnats, so I suppose that's cause for celebration."

"Ah, you are ever the frivolous devotee of revelry, Padawan. Any excuse for a party."

He snorted. "As long as it's indoors and I am permitted to _wash_ up first."

"Poor baby," Tahl soothed him."Dirt under your fingernails and Master Wonder-of-the-Living-Force Jinn's company for ten unbroken days. That's half your Trials of Knighthood done in one fell swoop. I'll put in a commendation with the Council."

He grinned, his mood lightening as her wit lifted them above the grinding realities of the future and the frailty of gross matter.

'Of course," Tahl continued in the same droll vein, "They'll end by posting you as sentinel in some completely uncivilized system, where you'll be forced to live in a cave and subsist upon honey and locusts for decades. Or a drought stricken world where you can only find enough water to bathe every standard month or so."

His grin widened, as he pictured himself as a tattered hermit - with a half-meter's worth of grizzled beard bedecked with twigs and bits of grime, and inhabited by creeping vermin.

Tahl laughed aloud as the image translated across the Force, her voice a cascade of pure notes sounding in its ethereal depths. "I've missed you both. If you were gentlemen, one of you would have had the decency to come home injured or ill so we could pin you down in the Temple for a while."

"Ugh." Obi-Wan shuddered at the idea of being imprisoned by the healers… and then shoved the thought away, too late.

Tahl sighed again, fingertips brushing over the back of his hand. "Shush. You are strictly forbidden to brood. And here comes Qui."

"And what dark conspiracy have you two been hatching in my absence?" the tall man inquired, setting down a heavily laden tray and sliding into the seat opposite Tahl.

"I've been Knighted and posted on Yarbel or some equally dreadful place," Obi-Wan informed him. "But don't worry, master – I shan't fall to the Dark Side unless I'm forced to endure another one of your paeans to the glory of the desolate wilderness."

The Jedi master raised a brow and began distributing food.

"Give me Master Jinn's dessert, Padawan," Tahl ordered, imperiously. "He forfeits."

It was a good meal, well-prepared and eaten with properly civilized utensils.

* * *

They ambled slowly along the concourse leading to the residential level, pretending that their laggardly pace stemmed from nothing but enjoyment of the conversation and a general contentment. Tahl walked by Qui-Gon's side this time, doggedly pushing forward as they made their way through corridor after corridor.

"Do not even say the _word _'hoverchair'," she warned him as they edged their way up the last flight of shallow steps. Obi-Wan brought up the rear, hands folded into his cloak sleeves, mouth thinned into a concerned line. "And you, Padawan," she shot over one shoulder. "Stop _brooding,_ for Force's sake. It's distracting."

"Yes, Master Uvain."

When she had struggled to the summit of the stairs, they turned into the hall leading to her private quarters. Tahl opened the door with a terse wave of her hand, blind eyes flickering up to meet Qui-Gon's inquiring gaze. A silent communication passed between them.

"Obi-Wan… why don't you continue on to our rooms. I'm sure you must wish for some peace and quiet this evening."

The Padawan bowed, smothering his disappointment. Tahl was tired… and did not need the additional burden of guests. Though, apparently, Qui-Gon did not _count_ as a guest.

"I'll see you later," the tall man added, subtly emphasizing the underlying imperative nature of his suggestion

"Yes, master." And that was that. The young Jedi turned and strode away up the hushed corridor, resigned to an evening of 'peace and quiet' alone in their shared quarters. Not that he had a particular aversion to solitude; on the contrary, he was known to crave it from time to time, being of a temperament easily given to fits of introspection, or of occasional scholarly passion. But…

Well. His aggrieved pace brought him to the door more quickly than he had expected, and he entered, not bothering to turn on the lights, since the Force and long familiarity had stamped every feature of the sparsely furnished dwellings upon his inner eye. It wasn't that he minded being dismissed; nor was it his place to question his master if the latter chose to spend some portion of the evening - or perhaps the entire night, a small and rebellious part of his mind added - engaged in _philosophical discussion_ with his childhood friend. Their time together was limited on the one hand by Qui-Gon's own obligations, which included a rapid-fire succession of important missions, and on the other hand by…

He bypassed the common area and went straight to his own tiny bedchamber, flopping onto the sleep mattress with a muffled grunt, He thrust a hand beneath his outer tunic to scratch at one of the most bothersome insect bites near his navel, and glared at the stretch of blank ceiling overhead. He fancied he could see the faint burn mark scored on the smooth surface where some previous occupant had – apparently – ignited a saber's blade without due attention to surroundings.

It wasn't that he had any true cause for resentment, he sullenly mused. It was simply that… that… did they think him _obtuse?_ _A stupid child?_ Or was he, in point of fact, being a stupid child to even _think _such a thing of his revered teacher? Or was it even more obtuse to think it was wrong to think such a thing? What did he know, other than the words of the Code he had so long ego committed to heart as memory and guide? As Qui-Gon himself would have gently rebuked him, _knowledge is one thing but wisdom quite another._

He released a soft sigh into the darkness. He still had much to learn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

When he woke the following morning, Qui-Gon had not yet returned. This was apparent from the fact that Obi-Wan had not been rousted from slumber by a brusque 'good morning', or by having his covers summarily yanked off his body by a masterful application of the Force. He blinked lazily, slowly surfacing from an undeniably pleasant dream, in which floating mandrangea bean blossoms provided a hypnotic backdrop to a scene of enfolding warmth…of strange yet familiar longing… into the far less enchanting environs of his quarters.

Though he did not possess the relative luxury of a window, he could _feel _that it was well past dawn, and that his rest had been uninterrupted and deep, issuing into a languid late-morning contentment his life as apprentice Jedi seldom permitted. He felt he was floating in the Force's supernal currents much as the white petals had spun and drifted in the dream-scape, his limbs pleasantly heavy with the clinging lassitude of sleep.

Shaking the seductive sensation away, he rose and made a quick reconnaissance of the apartment, which confirmed that Qui-Gon Jinn was indeed nowhere to be found. Somewhat at a loss, he ran fingers irritably over the itching welts on his flesh, skin thrilling with goose-bumps of pleasure-pain where his gentle scratching irritated the toxin-saturated areas.

"Blast it." Another day of this? The itch flared into intolerable intensity, and he gritted his teeth, resisting as long as possible. Left alone to suffer interminable torment, while his absentee master idled away his own morning in –presumably – flawless comfort. The last ephemerally sensuous echo of his dream flitted across memory before dissolving entirely…

A trickle of resentment rose to disturb his perfect tranquility of mind, quickly followed by a jolt of alarm. Taking a deep Yamalsa centering breath, he deemed that the best way to smooth his thoughts back into ideal Jedi calm, and perhaps to ameliorate the unholy _itching, _ was to take a thirty minute cold shower.

This efficacious remedy having been duly completed within the prescribed time, and both ruffled feelings and physical discomfort smoothed into mere subliminal irritation, he thought for a moment about making tea and then decided that this glorious morning was one on which he would break with all custom and enjoy caff instead. After all, he had nobody to please but himself. He drank the hot, bitter brew with great enjoyment, savoring every bracing drop and the dry aftertaste it left in his mouth.

And then the itching started again, worse than ever.

"For the love of -!"

Five minutes later he was dressed and sweeping out the door. Let his master fritter away the morning in whatever slothful fashion he saw fit; Obi-Wan had things to _do._

* * *

Senior Healer BenTo Li clutched theatrically at his chest and took a single staggering step backward. "You're here? Of your own volition?"

Obi-Wan's mouth twisted. "Yes, all right. I'm here."

The healer feigned further amazement. "I'll check you for concussion first, then."

"It's not a concussion… it's these blasted _insect bites."_

This revelation struck Ben To as hilarious. "You'll avoid me like the plague when it's a simple matter of broken ribs or deadly infection, but you come running for help in the case of a wee bug bite?" he chortled. "You'll send me to an early grave, Kenobi. I'm going to suffer an aneurysm from excessive laughter."

"It's not funny," the Padawan muttered, gingerly shrugging out of his tunics. "Look, Master Li."

Ben To whistled quietly and ran a hand over his short, pointed beard. "You don't do anything by halves, do you? How's your southern hemisphere look?"

"Worse," his patient miserably intoned.

"What were you doing, boy? Frolicking in a swamp during tisska mating season? You've got the whole star-forsaken galaxy mapped out on your back."

Obi-Wan crossed his arms sulkily. "Ten days on Ragoon IV - and the little wretches had it in for me _specially._ Master Jinn emerged relatively unscathed. Though we did find a serpent in his sleeping roll one night, it didn't have the wits to actually strike him."

"Pity," Ben To chuffed, peering appraisingly at the young Jedi's back. "Hmmm… these itch, do they?"

"Like the blazes."

"Haven't you tried bacta?"

"It made things _worse, _master. Believe me."

"Hm," the healer mused, bushy brows lowering over bright eyes. "Bacta resistant toxin, severe local inflammation…. Ragoon… let me check the database. Don't go anywhere, now. I'm growing fond of you."

* * *

"It's nothing, Qui. A dizzy spell – they pass in time."

The stubborn look gracing the tall man's slightly crooked features did not abate.

Tahl gripped the doorjamb for support and pulled her loose robe close about her trembling frame. "I'll thank you to grant me the dignity of contemning my own ailments," she snapped. "I have always allowed you the same courtesy."

"Tahl…." He moved closer, one arm reaching to steady her, despite her voiced refusal.

"What the Force has ordained, you cannot undo," she reminded him, gently.

But his fighting spirit would not be quelled. "The Force has ordained the problem… but not its outcome. A solution may yet present itself. Tahl, I –"

A hand pressed against his lips forestalled the reckless promise. "Hush. Do not make such a foolish oath. You must not _cling."_

Qui-Gon dipped his head, a small sweep of his unbound hair tumbling over one muscular shoulder. Tahl smoothed it with the fingers of one hand, her touch skimming as lightly as a soaring thranctill's reflection over rippling water. "It's late. You should go."

Outside, the morning sun climbed triumphantly toward its zenith; inside, within the veiled sanctuary of their private devotion, dusk crept near, unrelenting. The Force darkened with impending night. "It's not too late. Not yet." His voice was soft, pleading.

They staved off the future another few moments, huddled close behind the ramparts of this present moment.

Tahl drew away first. "You have a Padawan – and duty. You are a Master of this Order, Qui-Gon. Go."

And so, obeisant to her command, he donned again the insignia of his office and vocation, and went - relinquishing her into the Force's keeping yet again, as he had time after time, and wondering with a pang of sheerest dread whether this would be the last.

* * *

"Here we are," Ben To Li announced, reentering the small room with a container of sticky glop in hand. "Hacha-liniment. Best kept secret in the galaxy. Nothing more effective for cases like this. After all, have you _seen_ the insects on Kashyyk?"

A fair point, Obi-Wan supposed. According to the Archives records, you could _ride_ some of the more massive specimens to be found on the Wookiee homeplanet. He had never yet been there himself… and he wasn't particularly eager to go.

"I'm surprised Qui-Gon didn't tell you about this wonder-potion himself," Ben To added, opening the jar of pungent grease.

"Oh…. Ah, he did," the Padawan admitted, ruefully. His own objections to using the witch-doctor remedy had been vibrant and sustained, and the Jedi master had eventually given up the debate.

The healer cocked a bristling silver brow at him. "I _see. _Well, youngster, I suggest you maintain a more open-minded attitude toward alternative practices next time. There is more _wisdom_ to folk wisdom than you might think. You might have spared yourself days of suffering."

Obi-Wan's shoulders dropped. "I… yes, master." His comlink chose this convenient moment to buzz, sparing him further embarrassment.

"Kenobi."

"Where are you, Padawan?"

The young Jedi raised his brows at the irony. Qui-Gon wished to know where _he_ was? "Talking about you behind your back, master. With Master Li."

A stunned silence on the other end of the link. "You went to the healers of your own accord?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan crossly replied. Stars, he wasn't an obstreperous toddler. Then, as Ben To slathered the stinging ointment on the multitudinous insults to his flesh, "….Son of a _Sith!" _The hacha-liniment burned like wildfire, and nearly had him howling like a genuine full-blooded Wookie.. He blinked several times, clearing his vision of smearing moisture while the healer chuckled sadistically in the background.

"Hm," Qui-Gon remarked.

"I'm sorry master…. _Blast it to the ….._. Ah, do you require my presence?"

"We are officially on standby status for a new assignment," the Jedi master informed him. "But I think we might risk an excursion into the city this afternoon. I've just received news that some old friends are visiting Coruscant on business."

The young Jedi's mind raced, sorting through possibilities. But Qui-Gon had gathered so many pathetic life forms beneath the spreading branches of his affection over the years… it was impossible to guess at the identity of their unexpected acquaintances. "Who, master?"

"You'll see. Meet me in the hangar bay in a half hour, if Ben To can spare you."

* * *

Qui-Gon left the piloting to his apprentice, as was their custom. Coruscant's air traffic lanes were even more congested than usual that afternoon; other vehicles' drivers shouted and waved fists, claws, or other exotic appendages in the air, blaring horns and performing illicit and dangerous maneuvers to push themselves forward in the crawling queue of passenger aircars and cloud gondolas.

"You just brought me out here as an exercise in patience," the young Jedi griped. "I don't even _like_ flying."

Qui-Gon calmly observed the three-dimensional road rage erupting all about them. "There is a lesson to be learned from any situation," he observed. "And the moral of this tale is-"

"Stay home," Obi-Wan supplied, tightly, swerving to avoid the hurtling mass of a freight grav-truck dropping in without warning from the lane directly above them.

"E chu ta!" the heavy vehicle's driver hollered, leaning out of his cockpit to thrust an obscene hand-sign in the Jedi's direction.

The Padawan lifted disdainful brows. "Lovely."

Forty minutes later, they finally escaped the cacophonous labyrinth of sky traffic, crossing over a district boundary into a less populated area. Obi-Wan laid on speed, glad to be away from the din and disorder, skimming low over an older residential and shopping sector.

"You are disturbed, my Padawan," Qui-Gon stated.

The statement earned him a sardonic sideways glance. "I can't imagine why."

But the Jedi master's inquiry was not so easily deflected. "By more than the traffic patterns. I sense your unease."

There was little point in offering flimsy denial. Obi-Wan's mouth twitched unhappily. "Yes, master."

"Well? Out with it. Let us not sully the upcoming friendly reunion with unresolved _brooding."_

The Padawan kept his gaze fixed on the cityscape rolling away beneath them, checking the nav guidance system once or twice before answering. "It's nothing of importance, master – personal feelings are not-"

"Ah," the older man interrupted him. We've long since established that you may not use that particular excuse to avoid potential disputes."

The young man frowned. "Did I not know better, master, I would think you are _eager_ to enter the fray."

Qui-Gon drummed fingers lightly against Temple air-car's side panel. "We have not yet sparred today, as I recall. Now: what is it that so weighs upon you?"

Obi-Wan sighed.. "You won't like it."

Expectant silence.

"I do not intend any disrespect," the pilot continued, then hesitated.

More expectant silence.

Obi-Wan altered course slightly, lessening their velocity and making a great show of readjusting the guidance computer.

Yet more silence. Qui-Gon shifted in his seat slightly, clearing his throat.

The Padawan abandoned all pretense at caution and plunged in headfirst. "Master. The Code explicitly forbids personal attachments, because they are the shadow of greed, and because they can lead to the fear of..of loss. And this is something I have fond to be true-"

"In your vast life experience," the older man put in, dryly.

Obi-Wan exhaled, releasing the sting of this barbed remark. "I have found it to be true, he repeated. "From watching others, perhaps." He glared at his mentor, but received only a look of inscrutable calm in reply. "And I honor your teachings, master, but you have always taught me to question and think for myself as well,… as you do…" He scowled, then hurried onward. "I do not – I still don't understand your views on the matter."

"Ah." Qui-Gon looked out across the endless geometry of the megalopolis. "We have broached this topic before. I still do not have an answer that will satisfy you, Obi-Wan. The most I can say is this: be wary of generalities, where the heart is concerned. The Living Force indwells and acts through its chosen instruments – individuals. It would be folly to seek understanding through a mere abstraction."

The aircar slowed almost to a standstill. "The Code is not an abstraction!" the Padawan objected hotly.

"No… not in its essence. But at your age, young one, it might be grasped at least in part only as an ideal, an empty cup you have yet to fill with _experience._ When that cup has filled and overflowed, then the Code will not be an abstraction to you. And you will have wisdom, rather than knowledge. In the meanwhile, you will solve nothing by brooding on the matter."

As predicted, this answer did little to satisfy. The hung suspended between the duracrete canyons below and the cloud-beribboned canopy above.

Qui-Gon tilted his head to one side, gaze passing straight through his disgruntled student. "This is about myself and Master Tahl, is it not?

Obi-Wan flushed deeply. "That – it is not my concern, master."

"No," the tall man agreed, amicably enough. "It is not."

The Padawan quietly put the aircar back in flight mode and accelerated back into the assigned free-fly lane, heading dutifully for their pre-arranged rendezvous.

And they exchanged no more words on the topic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Here we are. An interesting choice of venues."

Obi-Wan doggedly tailed the Jedi master through the pressing throng on the pedestrian plaza outside "Snoodle's" – a boisterous eatery in the far-flung Barshuu district. A vibrant holoboard marquee outside the restaurant proclaimed that this was the _only_ place on Coruscant one could enjoy the unparalleled delight of a Snoodle-burger, replete with _the works. _

A friendly Yammutz told the Jedi that their party had already arrived and directed them to a dining alcove just behind the sports lounge, where a motley crowd hooted and whistled their enthusiastic support for the various ooz-ball champions contending on four gargantuan wall-mounted holonet feeds.

Qui-Gon smiled benignly upon the uproarious proceedings. "What do you think, Padawan?"

The young Jedi lifted a brow. "I think we are over-dressed, master."

They rounded the corner into a relatively quiet section of the establishment – only to be greeted by a loud exclamation of joy and a flurry of long arms and overpowering embraces.

"Jedi Gon! Obawan! So good to see you, I do not lie!"

Obi-Wan collected his wits sufficiently to register that the pair of beaming Phindians presently constricting him to death were none other than Paaxi and Kaadi Derrida. He wriggled in the latter's grasp, feeling his head swim from lack of oxygen.

"Let go of my wife, Obawan, before I have to kill you!" the irrepressible Paaxi shouted in his ear.

Kaadi obligingly moved on to suffocating Qui-Gon, leaving the gasping Padawan to have his arm pumped off by Paaxi's ecstatically fierce and unending handshake. "It-s- good-to-see you- too," he managed to chuff, rubbing at his diaphragm with his free hand.

"Sit! Sit!" their Phindian acquaintance commanded. "We did not know what you wanted, so we ordered nothing for you – not, so, I lie! We have ordered one of everything on the menu, enough even to feed Obawan and my oh so fat and hungry wife."

The Padawan glanced uneasily at Kaadi, his limited experience with females assuring him that – with certain cultural exceptions, as for instance among the Hutts - such references to appetite and overall tonnage did not always sit well. But the Phindian woman seemed unfazed by her husband's remarks, so he brushed his concern aside.

"Oh, Obawan," Kaadi exclaimed. "All grown up now, no lie! Watch out Jedi-Gon or this heartbreaker will be sowing wild oats all over the known galaxy!"

The young Jedi gripped the edge of the table, willing himself not to blush.

Qui-Gon gracefully slid into the seat beside his apprentice, mercifully ignoring the last suggestion. "Speaking of which," he smoothly replied, "It seems we must offer our congratulations to you, Kaadi."

The lady Phindian grinned hugely with pleasure.

Obi-Wan blinked, caught off-guard. A moment later, as he extended his Force awareness, seeking whatever it was that his master had so adeptly sensed before him, he gasped in surprise. Kaadi's presence was now complemented by ancillary light, a cluster of new and delicate lives gently unfolding within her body. A smile slowly spread over his face as realization dawned. Qui-Gon flicked an amused glance in his direction.

"Yes!" Paaxi concurred. "And triplets, no lie! So I am to be congratulated as well, no?"

"But," the Padawan objected mildly, "Do not such things depend entirely on the maternal –"

Qui-Gon kicked him under the table and he fell silent.

The Phindian's chest puffed out pridefully. "A father to be, I am, I do not lie, Jedi friends. Wonderful is it not?"

"Indeed," Qui-Gon answered, a warmth of conviction in his voice. Another brief glance at his apprentice, one softened by some elusive sentiment.

The server chose this moment to arrive with their food, a veritable banquet of greasy and deep-fried novelties, garnished with every imaginable sauce and condiment known to sentient beings. The table groaned beneath its load.

"Enjoy!" Paaxi commanded. "A feast of celebration."

The Derridas tucked in without further ado. "Business has been good," Paaxi informed his friends. "Unstealing pays well in the Rims. Guerra and I have built an empire for ourselves: Derrida Brothers, Ltd., Property Recovery Services. The competition has even sent bounty hunters once or twice, I do not lie!"

Qui-Gon sampled the Snoodle-burger. "Risky business, then," he observed.

But the Phindian chortled with mirth. "Not when my wife is such a pot-shot with the long range blaster. You should have seen that last fellow—he won't be trying to break into our warehouse again soon. No, life is good. And you?"

The Jedi master inclined his head. "We have seen our share of joy and sorrow. But the Force is a wise and powerful guide; life is indeed, good."

"What did I tell you, Kaadi my love? The Jedi ! Never lacking for a mystical outlook. Enough to take away my appetites – not so, I lie!"

"All evidence points to your appetites remaining undiminished," Qui-Gon slyly remarked, popping a sliver of fried yarsil in his mouth and regarding the Phindian blandly.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened.

"Bwa ha ha!" Paaxi roared in delight. "I give as good as I get, Jedi-Gon," he winked. "Marriage is a hard piece of work, I tell you. Kaadi – she is a shrewd businesswoman. Driving a hard bargain and always demanding interest on her accounts, no lie." He turned to the younger Jedi. "Beware, Obawan: women demand a huge investment. Exhausting, no lie."

"Don't worry," the Padawan flippantly assured him. "I'm not brave enough for _matrimony."_

Kaadi gestured expansively. "You see, Jedi-Gon? A loose cannon, Obawan is. Better tie him down before he makes trouble all over the place."

"That's not what I-"

"Just so!" Paaxi vociferously seconded his wife's assessment of the problem. "An example of virtue is what he needs, like my brother and me – not so , I lie! But seriously, Obawan: think twice about it, so. Kaadi, she is work. But a Jedi lady, this must mean double, triple the work. You will die trying to satisfy her, just so."

The Derridas were lost in the avenues of their own amusement for a full minute, long arms wrapped about each other's shoulders as they guffawed. Obi-Wan caught the Jedi master's eye, but the tall man's face betrayed no flicker of emotion.

_So….indecent!_ the young Jedi fumed, inwardly.

_Not every outlook must be mystical, young one,_ Qui-Gon sent across their bond.

The Padawan shrugged and reluctantly re-applied himself to the food. After all, it _was_ good to see the Phindians again, and who was he to question the ways of the Living Force or the peculiar sensibilities of those who were so manifestly devoted to its service?

* * *

Obi-Wan spent the majority of the ride home squirming uncomfortably in the passenger seat and attempting to discreetly relieve a renewed bout of itching.

Beside him, eyes still tracking over the nighttime city lights below, Qui-Gon chuckled. "Just have done with it and scratch like a Kowakian monkey-lizard, Padawan. You aren't deceiving anyone."

The young Jedi snorted in vexation and clasped his hands tightly in his lap, exerting severe self-control.

"I thought Ben To gave you something for those bites?" the Jedi master inquired.

"Oh… yes. He did. I just, ah, need to reapply it."

Qui-Gon dipped sharply into the next traffic lane, the reckless piloting maneuver eliciting a sharp hiss of disapprobation from his apprentice. "What did he prescribe, by the way?"

Obi-Wan shifted testily. "….Wookiee hacha-liniment, master," he mumbled.

The Jedi master's brows rose. "Indeed?"

"You needn't say it," his student irritably muttered. "You did tell me so."

"I did, and you chose to prolong your own discomfort. Had you heeded my advice earlier, you would not be suffering now."

The Padawan slumped further into his seat. "Had you not dragged us to that star-forsaken _jungle,_ I would not be suffering now," he pointed out, peevishly.

"Had you not so clearly needed to reconnect with the Living Force, Padawan, we should not have visited Ragoon in the first place," Qui-Gon playfully responded.

Obi-Wan bit back the acid reply that sprang instantly to mind. It was tempting to inform his mentor that for all he cared at the moment the Living Force could re-connect with a very specific part of his anatomy – until he reflected that it already _had,_ in droves, with most unpleasant consequences.

"Mind your thoughts," Qui-Gon warned him, smiling smugly to himself.

* * *

It might have attributable to the baleful effects of consuming an excess of rich and nutritionally deficient foods, or might rather have been a premonitory warning visited upon him by the Unifying Force, -or even some weird amalgam of both these things - but Obi-Wan's dreams that night were very disturbed indeed.

_Pale blossoms drifted like ash on the wind, the dark twist of deflowered branches stark against oncoming night. Crimson streaked the far horizon, where a sacked city burned. Lamentations coiled mutely within the bitter gusts of air, piling softly at his feet with the downy white petals. When he looked down, they were spattered with bright blood._

He rolled over, sending the thermal blanket sliding, unnoticed, to the floor.

_The gentle rain of flowers crystallized into ice, into stinging hail. The wind knifed through clothing, burned like fire in his lungs. Leaden, slipping into blackness, he groped across the frigid earth, seeking urgently. His fingers fumbled in stiff, frost bedewed cloth, white tunics spattered with the same bright blood. And he crumpled down beside her, beside her deathly still body, clutching at her stiff limbs in a paroxysm of regret._

Part of him struggled to break free of cloying terror, but the vision pulled him inexorably back into its clutches.

_Columns of blue glass rose in rank upon rank, dim holograms swirling in their translucent depths. He wended through the labyrinth, seeking, always seeking, but for what he could not say. Beyond the borders of the frozen forest, blaster fire erupted and klaxons whined. But he could not cease his questing, not until he found what he was looking for, not until the last mystery had been unveiled._

Somewhere beyond the tormented images, the roiling Force wakened a Jedi master from his own uneasy slumber.

_Tahl passed among the Temple's corridors, blind eyes unseeing, hair unbound, white garments hanging upon a wasted frame. She beckoned, and he followed, up unfamiliar passages, along mysterious corridors. They were lost; but_ she _paced steadily ahead, not looking back. At the summit of the last stair she paused, before a final threshold, and then disappeared. He pushed open the portal and descended, into the Hall of Remembrance, the tiered circles surrounding a funeral pyre. And Tahl laid upon the cold slab, already aflame with Light, a beacon ascending into the open skies above, surrounded by fluttering white rainfall. And below, Qui-Gon slowly sank to his knees, red blossoming hideously in the center of his chest, head bowing to the floor as he collapsed beneath the weight of the blow._

"Nooooooooo!" Obi-Wan's appalled cry shattered the illusions to vivid shards, bright panic sparkling in the Force and in his veins. He bolted upright, sweat-slicked, adrenaline propelling him onto his feet and halfway to the door before he was fully awake.

The panel slid open; Qui-Gon Jinn stood faintly limned in blue by the dim night-lamp, his long hair unbound, his hastily donned tunic hanging open in rumpled folds.

"Master." For a moment, the Padawan thought his knees would give way; but dizzying relief was swiftly supplanted by mortification, a second wave of warmth suffusing his skin and stiffening his posture. "Master, I'm sorry. I did not mean to disturb you."

The older man waved the lights to quarter power, keen gaze taking in both his trembling apprentice and the twisted bedclothes, and nodded once. "I'll make tea."

When he had retreated, Obi-Wan sank into meditation posture and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he painstakingly reconstructed his balance, found his own immovable center in the Force. He was far, far too old to be afflicted by night terrors – what had beset him from his early years, even in the crèche, had over time mellowed to mere occasional ground-quakes of ominous foresight, a connection to the Unifying Force that often proved useful, or illumining. But even now, after five grueling years of apprenticeship and unmitigated labor to attain _Jedi_ _tranquility,_ he was still helpless to stop the rare but devastating volcanic eruption of his gift. Or burden, depending on your point of view.

He rested in the Force's peace for a long stretch of time, releasing the visions and their uncertain meanings into the oblivion of its boundless luminance. When he dared once more to relinquish his hold upon the universal Light, he found that Qui-Gon was kneeling placidly beside him, a bowl of no-longer-steaming tea in his broad hands.

"Here." The tall man raised a hand. "And do not apologize again."

Obi-Wan drank; and then set the cup down upon the floor, aware that the brew had not been the Jedi master's favored _silpa, _ but a heady dose of _peruma_ and _hatha_ leaves. He would be out cold within five minutes unless he exercised great resistance… but he found a strange solace in submitting to the once-familiar childhood indignity. Just this once.

"Too much Snoodle-sauce," he quipped.

Neither of them believed it for a moment, but Qui-Gon had the good grace to smile. "When shall I ever teach you moderation, my Padawan?"

"I follow your example in all things, master."

"Oh? What about my advice regarding the hacha-liniment?"

"Your _example, _not necessarily… advice…" Obi-Wan retorted, around a wide yawn.

."Of course. An elementary distinction." The Jedi master supplemented the tea's soporific qualities with a powerful Force induced sleep–suggestion. "I thank you for the lesson."

A silence, in which his Padawan groggily searched for a fitting repartee.

"Ah… at last he has attained to insight beyond words," the older man remarked..

"…ungh," the prodigy of wisdom responded, eyes drooping heavily.

Qui-Gon gently caught him as he slumped forward, nightmare and jest equally forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lineage IV**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"Ninety four, ninety five, ninety six…"

Balanced on his splayed hands, spine and legs a strictly vertical column, a weighted training ball balanced lightly between his gently curled bare feet, Obi-Wan grunted his way through the last handful of inverted handstand push-ups. Perspiration dripped upon the floor, where his Padawan braid brushed against the polished boards of the gymnasium.

"One hundred." He pushed himself back up, straightening his aching arms in relief. The heavy ball threatened to tumble from its precarious pedestal, and he hastily adjusted his alignment, preventing the fall.

Qui-Gon nodded in approval. "You are improving. Though…. I think your balance could still be perfected." A mischievous flick of his fingers sent the weighted sphere toppling off its perch.

Lightning quick, the Padawan flipped about, a tight midair somersault bringing him back onto his feet in a deep lunge, one arm extended to catch the heavy object before it touched the floor.

"Ha." His bark of satisfied laughter echoed off the high ceiling.

The Jedi master raised his brows. "I believe we agreed to repeat the exercise if the ball dropped," he said, mildly.

"No, master. The condition was _if the ball touches the floor." _The young Jedi grinned, levitating the said object back into its place on the storage shelves nearby. "And it did not. And so, we are done. And so, with your permission, it is time for sparring." He covered his eager grin with a respectful bow, braid swinging over one shoulder.

The tall man folded his arms. "Are you in such haste to indulge your lust for savage combat? I would think you have enough defeats to your credit already."

"If you are unwilling to defend your claim to authority, master, far be it from me to pose an obstacle to the complacency of age."

Qui-Gon's eyes sparkled, even as he composed his features into a suitably intimidating frown. "Very well, bratling, since you –"

But his next threat was interrupted by the strident buzzing of a comlink. He slipped the small device out of its belt pouch.

"Jinn."

"Master Jinn. With respect, the Council requires your presence at the first possible convenience," recited the young voice on the link's opposite end.

"I am on my way now," the Jedi master promised, closing the connection. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan … your comeuppance must be delayed."

His apprentice nodded, all levity instantly leached from his demeanor. A Council summons on such short notice and under such terms of polite urgency could only mean one thing – a mission of grave importance. They hurried toward the shower rooms together, the Force coiling in mute apprehension behind them.

* * *

"The complete Archives records and Master Gallia's last transmissions will be uploaded to your transport's database," Mace Windu informed them. "The Council has full confidence in your capacity to handle this situation, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon bowed, perceiving the more personal act of trust concealed within the Korun Jedi's formal words. "We shall depart immediately," he replied. Beside him, Obi-Wan stood silent, soberly digesting the news they had just received.

"May the Force be with you," Mace rumbled, dismissing them.

In the turbo-lift, Obi-Wan stirred uneasily. "The Council did not say whether –"

"Master Gallia was accompanied by her Padawan," the tall man informed him. "We do not know anything specific beyond the message delivered by courier. Until we investigate for ourselves, we should not jump to conclusions."

The young Jedi regarded him pensively. "But if we are to depart without even time for a proper briefing, does that not suggest ...?"

It was a fair point. "It does," the Jedi master sighed. "Master Yoda may have sensed an acute disturbance in the Force. We will meditate together once we reach the planet. Perhaps more will be made clear then. In the meanwhile, I want you to go prep our ship. I'll join you in the hangar shortly."

"Yes, master."

They parted ways at the south tower's base, an abyss of unspoken misgivings hanging between them.

* * *

Obi-Wan diligently checked over the navcomp's calculations. Their destination, a Mid Rim system by the name of New Apsolon, sat at the coreward extremity of the Ootmian Pabol. He traced the major commercial hyperspace route along its length, passing over Apsolon into the more distant systems of Couchelle Prime, Ota, Ubirkkia, and out into the far rims and Hutt space: Nar Bo Sholla, and ultimately Nal Hutta itself. The twinkling blue line on the computer display seemed to demarcate the proverbial road to perdition, arcing its way out of the civilized galaxy and into the nebulous realms of lawlessness and chaos. Apsolon was the first stop on this legendary "Outlander's Way" – the initial slide down a steep incline toward absolute disorder and the rule of might. For a moment, the future slid like a water-serpent, beneath his present awareness, raising hairs at his nape and tightening his diaphragm with its promise of blackened horizons.

With an effort, he banished the sensation and confirmed the proposed coordinates and jump sequence, noting that the ship's major systems were online and ready.

His gaze wandered over the inside of the Temple hangar bay and then past its threshold to the sky and the distant planes of the sprawling megalopolis itself. Out there, over the planet's grimy curve, were Kaadi and Paaxi, wrapped in fond hopes for their new family, their bright and cozy future together. Here, waiting to launch into the lonely stars, he felt an unfamiliar pang of envy. The Phindians – though they might occasionally have to rebuff a rash mercenary sent by their competition – possessed the quiet certitude of familial ties. They would return home to Phindar when their business in the Core was finished, and there they would be greeted by Guerra, and the incomparable Derrida matriarch Duena. Though strife was not unknown to their people, even within the shadow of recent tyranny the Phindians could cherish their ties to kith and kin. For the Jedi…. It was different. Tahl's haggard face swam before his eyes, each new day hollowing the subtle curve of cheek and eye a little further, the ruinous souvenirs of brutal abuse forever inscribed upon her flesh. Duty had claimed her already, though she lingered on a short time longer. And duty would claim others… _could_ claim them at any time. On Apsolon, Master Adi Gallia and her Padawan had disappeared. Would he and Qui-Gon once again arrive too late to avert disaster?

He remembered rescuing Tahl: her face, her pallid skin, the light smothered in her once-gleaming eyes, death staring at him from a woman who had not yet surrendered, but who was nonetheless defeated. Another face rose, wraith-like, to haunt the halls of memory. A younger, fairer visage, one framed in a soft halo of gold, while white petals rained down a fragrant benediction….

"Padawan."

He had not noticed the Jedi master's arrival. Qui-Gon favored him with a penetrating look, one bespeaking an razor-edged acuity tempered by compassion and long experience. The tall man leaned down to tuck a single small satchel in the bulkhead storage compartment, neatly stowing away what little gear and extra clothing they would require for the mission.

"We're ready for departure, master."

The Jedi master eased himself into the co-pilot's seat. "The _ship_ is ready, you mean."

Obi-Wan cast his gaze downward. He deliberately unclenched his fingers. "Yes, master. I …ah… I am off-center," he admitted. A deep breath. There was little point in prevarication; Qui-Gon would eventually ferret out the truth anyhow, and the mission took precedence over his personal feelings. He exhaled, banishing a fraction of the tension that simmered beneath his immediate preoccupation with the flight plan. "Padawan Tachi is a friend."

"A particular friend," Qui-Gon added, astutely. "I recall the debacle on Ord Ursolon. You have been, as they say, through a tight spot together."

"Yes, master."

"And this touches a nerve, does it not? Regarding the Arbor Foundation and Tahl?"

The Padawan winced. He sometimes wished that his mentor was not such a devoted adherent to the _direct approach. _"Yes, master."

Qui-Gon sighed, leaning back to consider his apprentice thoughtfully. But he offered no words of trite comfort, no ready balm to soothe the ache of dread. Honesty held absolute sway between them; and in that unforgiving light, there was no solid promise of a happy resolution, no certainty to be wrested from the miserly pittance of foresight afforded them by the Force.

When the Jedi master spoke at last, it was with gentle authority. "The present moment," he commanded, conveying a subtle regret that he had no better assurance to give.

Obi-Wan nodded, willing himself to lift the ship off the decks and out the gaping hangar bay entrance into Coruscant's bright morning skies. It took a few moments to ascend into the upper atmosphere and then to adjust the auto-pilot to receive instruction from Space Traffic Control.

Qui-Gon gestured to the passenger cabin directly behind the cockpit. "Why don't you occupy yourself with the briefing materials? The political situation on Apsolon may have devolved since Master Gallia's last report; the better acquainted we both are with the planet's historical background, the better."

The young Jedi retreated into the adjacent cabin, offering the Jedi master a small bow of gratitude for the convenient distraction from the lure of his own dark thoughts.

* * *

Obi-Wan reclined on the inset bunk - one foot dangling over the cot's edge onto the deck, other boot jammed against the opposite bulkhead - and propped the first datapad against his upraised thigh.

Apsolon, the Archives abstract informed him, had been renamed _New Apsolon_ in the wake of a bloodless revolution twenty-some odd years earlier. This historical event had heralded the beginning of a brief reign of peace on the previously strife-ridden world, and had been spearheaded by two Jedi Knights sent expressly by the Supreme Chancellor. A quick cross-referencing of the indices satisfied his curiosity about the Jedi's identities: Q. Jinn and T. Uvain.

Tahl and his master. Inciting a revolution was not exactly within the specified parameters of peacekeeping… apparently Qui-Gon had been willing to dabble in a bit of insurrection and mayhem-sowing even then. It was comforting to know that the old rebel was immune to reformation, and that his penchant for unconventional action was not a result of encroaching senectitude and the typically accompanying dementia, as his current apprentice had on occasion darkly theorized. It was also slightly disturbing to imagine Master Tahl gaily traipsing along beside the renegade Knight in the role of accomplice. And – another odd thought - the entire exploit had been undertaken and brought to its happy conclusion well before Obi-Wan had even drawn his first breath.

He switched datapads and perused the entry regarding Apsolon's rigid caste system, remnants of which were apparent even under the new regime. The society was strictly delineated into the Workers , who constituted the vast majority, and the Civilized, a privileged and historically powerful ruling class. This latter group had in the last century given rise to an extremist dictatorial faction self-styled The Absolutes. He smiled a bit over the bombastic simplicity of the titles – the inventor of the names must have been a character possessed of both puritanical forthrightness and a severe lack of imagination. The Absolutes had crushed the majority under their heels, so to speak, until revolution was inevitable. The Workers, unembarrassed by their prosaic collective appellation, had taken exception to their oppressed status and- with the aid of Jedi sent expressly from the Republic Senate- staged an uprising leading to a new constitution and an abrupt shift of power to a radical democratic basis. The new popular leader, Ewane, had been elected from among their determinedly non-august ranks, and had issued in the much anticipated era of prosperity and equality for all.

Except of course the disenfranchised Civilized, Obi-Wan privately amended. There had been no bloodshed, according to the records; property had been confiscated, yes, and families ousted from the cities into the outlying rural areas… certainly the abrupt upheaval and reformulation of law had not provided for those who had hitherto played the role of rulers. It was possible he was projecting his own cynicism onto the situation, but…. should not the triumph of the moment have been overshadowed by the possibilities inherent in the _long view?_

Qui-Gon chose this moment to enter the cabin, their hyperspace jaunt having been successfully initiated. His apprentice hastily sat upright, but not before his languid posture had sparked an amused glint in the Jedi master's eye.

"Enjoying yourself?" the older man inquired.

"Apsolon's recent past is a most engaging topic of speculation," the Padawan replied, cagily. "I hope we aren't heading there to clean up a mess made decades ago."

The tall Jedi leaned against the opposite bulkhead, one brow raised. "The disposition of their affairs was the best compromise we were able to negotiate at the time," he said, mild tone velveting a slight defensive tension. "Unless, in your wisdom, you have some better solution to suggest?"

Obi-Wan looked up sharply. "I – forgive me, I did not mean –"

"Beware the _could have _and the _might have_," Qui-Gon advised him, yet more softly. "It is easy in hindsight to critique others' lack of omniscience."

"Yes, master."

A short silence, in which the ship's drives thrummed a low note of warning.

Qui-Gon stepped forward and briefly grasped his student's shoulder, mute apology and encouragement at once. "I fear this assignment has personal …obstacles… for both of us. We must be mindful."

The Padawan offered no argument.


	5. Chapter 5

**Lineage VII**

**Chapter 5**

The proximity indicators sounded a chime when they reached the bounds of the Terr'skiar sector in the Mid Rim.

Obi-Wan stirred out of his austere contemplation of Apsolon's historical records and frowned at the navcomp. "We're nearly there, master."

Qui-Gon appeared behind him, silently sliding into the empty pilot's chair as the small ship made a staid reversion, barely hiccupping as it crossed the incomprehensible border between space and hyperspace. Wisping light resolved again into color and shape, and there before them hung the planet, belligerence veiled by beauty, seething inner turmoil hidden behind a tattered skein of clouds. Three large moons paid homage, pacing sedately in the train, a mute and sycophantic court to a monstrous tyrant.

"It's huge," the Padawan exclaimed. Apsolon was more on the scale of a gas giant than a typically inhabitable world. Smaller planets tended to support sentient life more readily than their massive sister orbs.

The Jedi master chuckled. "I had the same reaction, the first time I beheld it. Only the equatorial region is populated, and that only on one continent." He pulled up a detailed holographic map. "Here, and here. The capitol and major subsidiaries are contained within energy fields generated by ion towers. They utilize the world's native meteorological properties to sustain a protective barrier. Of course, there are other more primitive settlements in the mountain regions."

Obi-Wan nodded. "The Hill People… but I thought they had emigrated back to the cities after the revolution."

Qui-Gon's mouth thinned. "Many did. But they were replaced by the dispossessed."

"The Civilized, you mean."

"Those who formerly held great wealth and privilege were driven out of the cities to scrape what sort of existence they could in the wilderness… I have never been able to find how well they fared after we left. It is to be hoped they were able to adapt." The tall man hesitated, meeting his apprentice's questioning gaze, a pair of blue eyes limpid with unvoiced perplexity. "The Civilized were anything but, Obi-Wan. You must understand that the alternative was an outbreak of retributive violence, such as few worlds have ever seen. On Apsolon, the culture has always festered, tending toward extremes."

Obi-Wan turned away, a groove appearing between his brows. "But which way has the pendulum swung this time?"

The ship plunged into the giant's gravity well and began a spiraling descent to the main urban center, Apsolis Prime.

* * *

"I think we shall make a more covert entrance than the Chancellor's first ambassadors," Qui-Gon decided, peering through the viewport at the empty patch of land separating their chosen docking-place from the main gates of the capitol city.

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, laying aside his traditional wide-sleeved robe and rummaging in the small travel-bag his mentor had hastily packed before their departure. "You still have this wretched thing, master?"

The older man raised his brows. "That duster is a relic of exploits which predate _your_ existence," he said. "You should treat it with more respect."

His apprentice's mouth quirked with ill-concealed impertinence, but the young man merely draped the offending item over his own shoulders, shaking out its time-faded hem.

Qui-Gon shrugged into another ragged garment, a dark stretch of rough-woven cloth that hung to his knees, and had been shorn of sleeves and hood to make a long, close fitting vestment. This he proceeded to belt upon the outside, saber tucked neatly beneath the outer layer.

"That's my old cloak!" Obi-Wan objected.

"The only one to date you have outgrown rather than lost," Qui-Gon informed him, smugly. "Worthy of inclusion in the Annals, I should think. You don't harbor some secret attachment to this scrap of cloth, do you, Padawan?"

"Of course not, master." The youth turned on his heel and led the way down the ramp.. As an afterthought, Qui-Gon picked up the shipboard repair tool-case and followed him out.

Along the sunken road to the capitol city were set odd sentinels, a double line of standing stones eroded by time and wind into tormented forms, an arcane calligraphy wrought by the slow brush of attrition. They watched the two Jedi pass, a wordless congregation of ancient judges, ones which had seen Fate's restless pendulum swing from extreme to righteous extreme too many times, and which – could they give voice to memory – might recite a litany of tragic downfalls and short-lived uprisings that would make even the most cynical historian quail before its obscenities.

At length, the pair of humbly clad sojourners arrived beneath the durasteel gates of Apsolis Prime, twin towers fitted with a bevy of leering windows, slats carved in the walls' unforgiving face. The energy field arced upward from its soaring generator spires, a lurid orange roof spread over the city like a doomsday sun. A sour-faced guardsman detached himself from the security patrol and addressed the newcomers.

"Passports."

Obi-Wan glanced upward as his mentor made a subtle gesture with his right hand. "We've already passed the checkpoint. We just went back to fetch our tools." Qui-Gon jiggled the case of repair equipment in his other hand.

The officer's sallow features slackened. "Right," he grunted. "You've already passed the checkpoint. Just fetching tools…. Sorry, I need to inspect your kit."

The Jedi master graciously opened the heavy case and allowed the man to sort through its contents.

"Very nice," the guard commented. "State of the art, Seinar Industries. Where'd a Worker get stuff like this, eh?"

Obi-Wan feigned trepidation, tugging on his master's sleeve. "You had to go and gamble again with that fellow at the spaceport. No harm in it, you said, and now look."

Qui-Gon brushed him aside, an embarrassed smile hovering near his lips. "Forgive my apprentice…. The tools belong to the People now.,. no matter how I obtained them. Are you, sir, in need of any such bits and pieces?"

The guard winked at the young apprentice tradesman and selected a microdriver for himself, pocketing it with a well-satisfied smirk. "You'll get the hang of it, son, maybe when you make Journeyman." He waved the pair onward. "Welcome to Apsolis Prime. Curfew is at sundown, People's Gathering at sixth bell."

The Jedi master bowed. "Thank you, comrade." He gestured sharply for his young companion to follow. "Come along."

* * *

"What is a People's Gathering, master?"

They wended their way among dour avenues of shops and residences, every doorway and window barred and shuttered against prying eyes. The buildings leaned together over the alleys, rooftops narrowing conspiratorially, blocking out the looming glare of the protective dome.

"There was no such custom here before or immediately after the revolution," Qui-Gon murmured. "We shall soon find out, though… it must be near the appointed hour." He glanced upward at the glowering facades of the apartment buildings, the balconies empty of life, the courtyards throwing their footsteps back at them as ghostly echoes. "Attendance, I take it, is mandatory."

"Very festive," Obi-Wan muttered. "Enforced celebrations."

Their path carried them into a central park, a raised hill of stunted green bushes and dark-graveled walkways, crowned with a veritable forest of blue columns, stark shafts of translucent permaglass each bearing a shimmering holographic image within its crystalline depths. At the apex of the rise stood a monolithic structure of black stone, a low dome provided with a single heavy doorway leading into inky subterranean chambers.

"The Museum of the Absolutes," the Jedi master explained grimly as they processed between the first of the sapphire pillars. "They had just begun construction upon it when Tahl and I left. It memorializes those lost in the conflict, and those who fell to the predations and cruelty of the Absolutes before the People's movement. Each of these columns honors a victim."

Obi-Wan stopped to peer into the glassy depths of a nearby shaft. The holographic image of a young woman shimmered, pale and haunting, an effigy imprisoned within a frozen waterfall. A brief epitaph was scribed upon the pillar's surface in several languages. He ran fingers over the etched words, wrenching his eyes from the melancholy visage of the long-deceased woman.

"We need to keep moving," Qui-Gon gently reminded him.

Black gravel gritted and rasped beneath their boots.

"The Absolutes did not constitute even a majority of the Civilized, master – at least, not according to the Archives records. So why was it necessary to punish an entire caste of people for the crimes of a few?… Even if their crimes were devastating." The young Jedi gestured to the memorial pillars with one hand.

The tall man exhaled slowly. "It was a highly _idealistic_ society. And likely still is. The conflict was perceived as a clash of principalities, the Absolutes' tyranny as simply the final expression of a degenerate way of life. You would not seek to uproot a noxious weed merely by plucking its flower, now would you?"

Obi-Wan's eyes still wandered over the rank and file of fossilized grief, the thousandfold prison of regret or resentment, cold blue tongues of hate set here as perpetual tribute. "I would not," he agreed, uneasily. "But should an entire _group_ be judged by the actions of its most powerful?"

"We argued the point at great length, believe me. But there was no swaying the Workers."

They slowed, stopping among a circle of tall columns at the park's center, a stately grotto of luminous sapphire spears, pointing to the angry swell of electric orange above.

"With respect, master…. Allowing such a thing, simply because it prevents an even greater calamity, seems like a betrayal of principle."

Qui-Gon's eyes followed the unremitting lines of the memorial columns, rigid stokes of destiny girding them round with implacable blue shadow. "Principles and ideals can sometimes be unbending and hard, Padawan. A solution on occasion must be yielding, soft-edged. We chose the path of lesser evil, a transition that did not erupt into the kind of violence this world has seen too many times."

Obi-Wan considered his words gravely, face cast in weird highlight by the surrounding pillars. "What did Master Tahl think of the solution?" he queried, softly.

The Jedi master's eyes narrowed, perhaps with remembered pain. "She saw things much as you do… at least then. Permitting one injustice as a stop-gap measure to prevent another one is not her style."

"It's not the Jedi way," the Padawan insisted. "I still don't see…"

Qui Gon waited, but the sentence hung unfinished in the sepulture space between the dimly glimmering shafts. "You don't see how I could have countenanced a revolution which merely replaced one tyranny with another?"

Obi-Wan looked at the dark pebbles between their feet and then raised his eyes, seeking reassurance.

"We cannot always manage to restore complete peace. There are times, Obi-Wan, when the best that can be accomplished is an adjustment of balance. At that time, power was centralized in the Civilized, and in the fanatical Absolute party. We pushed the balance in the other direction. And perhaps, now, the scales have tipped the opposite way."

The young Jedi still looked troubled. The duster's folds stirred as he folded his arms across his chest beneath the concealing drape of cloth."I don't like it here," he confessed, coming round to the heart of the matter. "I have a –"

"Bad feeling. As do I. You must remember that Master Gallia is a supremely competent diplomat," Qui-Gon assured his student. "And, moreover – do you really think she would pass up such a fine opportunity to correct my past mistakes?"

Obi-Wan's mouth twisted. "Point granted." He looked sideways, brows creeping upward. "I fear that our journey home will be marked by much discussion of our mutual shortcomings."

The tall man smiled. "We shall be strong and patiently endure the trial together." He clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder. "In the meantime, keep your focus –"

"In the present moment, where it belongs," Obi-Wan dutifully finished, offering a tiny smile of his own in return.

They walked on, between the watchful beams of weeping glass, of hardened recollection.

* * *

At last the forest of hard memory thinned, revealing a newly-constructed agora or marketplace, an encircling set of walls facing a great platform at the far end. Here, thronging the open plaza and spilling over the low-tiered supports, was the population of Apsolis Prime, thousands upon thousands, all gathered and facing the central dais.

"Ah," the Jedi master breathed. "The People's Gathering."

The Force pulsed with anticipation, with hypnotic tension. The crowd was a pile of kindling ready for the touch of rhetorical fire. The milling Workers massed closer to the stage's edge, expectant, as a sonorous bell's tone rang out over the city.

"Sixth hour. We are at least punctual."

"I still have a bad feeling about this, master."

"When do you not?" Qui-Gon swiftly scanned the mob. "There – go _mingle_ with the young and restless. Use your native charm to best effect."

A small pack of young men loitered near the edge of the assembly, swapping crude stories and lounging irreverently against the low wall surrounding the vast plaza. Into this laughing company the young Jedi reluctantly inserted himself, visibly gathering his nerve- or else forcibly suppressing an outrageous upsurge of dry wit – before idly sauntering up to his fellows and greeting them with what must have been a _most_ amusingly snide salutation, judging by the guffaws of admiration it elicited. Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed as he observed his protégé's skillful adaptation to circumstance, including the acceptance of a thin roll of what the master hoped was nothing more potent than bacci weed, and then turned his attention to the central platform and the speaker who had just emerged from the building beyond.

The squat figure spread wide its arms. "People of Apsolon."

And the People cheered, a thunder fit to deafen the very skies.


	6. Chapter 6

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"Need a light?"

Obi-Wan affably accepted the proffered heat-coil, holding it to the extremity of the thin cheroot until the crushed leaves within smoldered into a snaking line of blue smoke.

"Ah, he's in fine form tonight," one of the older youths grumbled, lounging insouciantly against a wall support as he jerked a thumb in the direction of the small figure haranguing the gathered populace. "Ewane gave better speeches, even if he was a vile compromiser and enemy of the people."

"Ewane," another snorted, exhaling a thick stream of vapor from both nostrils and mouth. "Popped off and left us with this idjit in his place." He tool a long drag on his own smokestick while his companions sniggered in approval.

"I thought the new leader was democratically elected," Obi-Wan put in mildly, cautiously tapping ash from his own slowly smoldering stick onto the pavement.

"Ha! You from some other planet?" one of the others snorted. A ripple of suspicion textured the Force.

He shrugged, nodding his head westward, in the direction of the nearest neighboring settlement, Corollon.

The first speaker grinned sardonically and blew smoke in a long stream. "Huh. Good as," he sneered. "Didn't you look at the election forms? The People's party only ran one candidate."

The young Jedi leaned back against the low retaining wall as the speech rambled on and on, sound amplifiers casting the impassioned syllables against the stone amphitheatre's shores like a raging sea. "Too busy working to worry about stuff like that, " he muttered.

The boy on his right, a scrawny dark-haired fellow with shifty eyes, jostled his elbow. "Hey! You gonna _use_ that or just let it burn out?"

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and silently uttered a curse, while his prying interlocutor regarded him with narrowed eyes. He raised the inhalant to his mouth and sucked in a fair quantity of the sweet-sickly smoke, lungs spasming slightly despite his well-honed control. Sensing the sharp expectation of the others, and the power hierarchy among them, he quashed his pricking conscience and made sure to exhale the resulting cloud into the smaller youth's prurient face, much to the amusement of his would-be peers.

"Kriff off, Yokk," the eldest commanded, and the skinny minion sidled away to hunch sullenly against an adjacent wall. Then, turning back to the Padawan, "You still in trade school?"

Obi-Wan suppressed a cough and cleared his throat. The smokestick had a peculiar _calming_ effect on the nerves…. He hoped it did not cloud the judgment as well. "Apprenticed," he replied, succinctly.

The leader of the rebellious crew made a face. "That's old school. Here, in Apsolon Prime, everybody does the Worker's Training Guild. Better enroll in class tomorrow if you're staying on. Everybody under eighteen standard's gotta go – no exceptions."

"To the hells with that," the newcomer responded, flicking his smokestick's butt into the gutter. "I'm here to make money, not go to school."

His companion leaned in close. "Listen – what's your name again?"

"Wan."

"Don't be a _pula,_ Wan. Truancy officer catches you outta the Guild Training and he's gonna send you straight to the Remediation Center. And then you are royally kriffed. So wise up. I'll see you round tomorrow at the Guild."

"I don't think so." He would be of no use to Qui-Gon while incarcerated in some imbecilic _conditioning _ camp for the citizenry. He had read enough and seen enough with his own eyes to know what sort of place the "Training Guild" must be. "I look old enough."

That earned him a round of dismissive laughter. The speaker thrust out a hand and patted his cheek, smirking. "Don't think so, baby-face." The others snickering was fanned to renewed vibrancy by this remark, provoking one or two acidic looks from others in the nearby crowd.

"I'll ask my….supervisor." Something told him that the term _master_ might not be prudent to employ in this company.

But further conversation was forestalled by another riotous outbreak of applause and hooting as the speaker on the far platform brought this extended rant to a close. The Workers then launched into an off-key and rather tedious anthem, one sung in loud and graceless voices by the swelling crowd, before the assembly slowly crumbled into a sluggish chaos, petering away into the surrounding streets and alleys. The disgruntled youths slunk away at the same time, disappearing into the milling crowd until Obi-Wan was left virtually alone, lingering under the growing shadow of the back wall until he spotted Qui-Gon's tall form striding across the plaza toward him.

The Jedi master's brows twitched upward when his apprentice fell into step beside him, blending into the shadows beneath a decaying warehouse. "Did you learn anything useful?"

"How to smoke a deathstick?"

Qui-Gon's steady pace might have faltered infinitesimally.

"It was ordinary bacci, master," Obi-Wan reassured him, running fingers along the hilt of his saber, concealed beneath the frayed duster's folds. "Apparently the new political figurehead was elected only in name – the people's party ran him as sole candidate. And the new regime in the capitol city here has mandated Guild Training for all persons who are legally minors. The others tried to bully me into attending, with threats of a Remediation Center."

"Hm." The tall man digested this news as they crossed a badly lit square and found another obscure alleyway between two residential blocs. "The Workers have put their faith in a small group called the New Absolutes," he murmured. "The man you heard speak tonight was Eline, an accomplished rhetorician but not, I think, the real source of trouble."

"New Absolutes?" Obi-Wan repeated, incredulously. "And what is their aim?"

A quiet chuckle answered him. "Were you not paying heed to our noble leader's rhetorical tirade, Padawan? I hope I need not rebuke you for a wandering attention."

The younger man snorted. "I was otherwise occupied."

"Smoking and loitering. The Council report will include _all_ the details," Qui-Gon promised. "The New Order seems to promise peace and prosperity for all… and the utter eradication of both the old ways and any who adhere to them."

A bell tolled out heavy warning around them; shadow deepened into the absolute black of night. There were no street lamps in this district.

"We should make haste," the Jedi master decided. "That is the curfew bell. I am told that a Visitors' Hostelry is just down this next street."

They jogged swiftly to the grimly barricaded front entrance of the so-called boarding house, the ominous notes of the bell resounding in their very bones.

* * *

"Fill out the registration forms on these 'pads," the emotionless droid instructed them. "They will be collected by a clerk in one standard hour. You are limited to one room, due to your failure to obtain clearance beforehand. Your allotted space is 53-B. Please follow the signs."

The Jedi glanced at each other quizzically as their robotic host thrust two datapads into their hands and indicated a blank grey-walled hallway leading to a set of stairs. They did not fail to notice the blast-shields recessed in the walls, ready to seal off the stairwell from the lobby, nor the echoing sterility of the corridors, nor the heavy, scuffed material lining both doors and the flooring underfoot.

"Master!" Obi-Wan exclaimed between gritted teeth. "This is a _prison."_

"Formerly," Qui-Gon observed. "Re-purposed as a..ah… hotel for guests from outside the city." He halted at the door assigned to them and applied the identichip to its scanner-plate. The heavy panel slid open to reveal a pale cell outfitted with two cots and a stripped down all-species 'fresher unit in one corner.

Obi-Wan balked upon the threshold.

"We _do_ have the key," the Jedi master reminded him, flourishing the small chit in one hand. "And," he added, leaning down with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "There are no _insects_ to disturb your repose here, Padawan."

His apprentice deigned make no reply, but merely strode into the bare chamber and flopped onto the nearest cot, thrusting hands behind his head and crossing his ankles. The door slid shut behind them.

"Here," Qui-Gon said, dropping both data-pads upon his student's belly. "Make yourself useful and fill out the paperwork."

* * *

The droid clerk showed up dutifully one hour later to collect the registration forms filled out in highly imaginative detail by Obi-Wan.

"How long do you suppose that false information will afford us here?" the Padawan wanted to know.

"Long enough," Qui-Gon decided. "We shall make best use of our time. Tomorrow I will make inquiries in the government complex. Master Gallia was sent here to ensure a peaceful transition during the elections. Her presence would have been noticed by more than a few observers, even if effort has been made to suppress all knowledge of Republic emissaries having arrived."

Obi-Wan nodded. "We should make an attempt to locate their Republic transport, as well. The Absolutes cannot have scrapped or hidden an entire shuttle so easily. It must still be impounded somewhere nearby. I can look into that that while you investigate at the administrative center."

The tall man folded his arms thoughtfully. "No… I think you should attend this school the youths mentioned. I am curious what the Workers Training Guild teaches its enrollees, and you may be able to obtain some more information from the other students. The young are often the most discontent, and the most talkative."

The young Jedi's obvious dissatisfaction with this plan was swiftly smoothed over by a resigned sigh. "Yes, master. Though I do not see what use it will be to our mission."

Qui-Gon's mouth tweaked upward at one corner. "As I said: discontent, and brashly vocal about it – you will blend in seamlessly with the other delinquents."

"_Yes, _master." The Padawan refrained from further comment, shifting testily on the edge of his cot. Then, "Do you suppose there is any chance of getting a proper meal here? I have a bad feeling about the room service."

Qui-Gon only grimaced in reply. They ended making do with a ration pellet apiece, and some water from the tap. After a lengthy shared meditation to center themselves in the Force's guiding light, they lay down to sleep fully clothed, with sabers at the ready, as was their custom on a mission. Since the hostelry illuminators seemed to be on an automatic timer, they had little choice but to retire when the cramped and windowless cell was abruptly plunged into inky blackness.

"Well, this is nice," Obi-Wan remarked dryly, his cot creaking as he stretched out upon its lumpy mattress. "I'm beginning to rethink my dedication to democracy."

His mentor grunted softly in the darkness. "I fear Apsolon has strayed far from that path, in any case. The New Absolutes may rule in the name of the people, but that does not make them just and rightful representatives."

"I don't know, master. The _people_ seemed enthusiastic enough when that demagogue was addressing them earlier."

The Jedi master exhaled slowly. "All the same, Obi-Wan. Popular acclaim does not always support freedom – but that does not invalidate the principle."

A short silence, in which they both shifted restlessly on the uncomfortable bunks.

"You feel responsible for the present state of affairs," the Padawan boldly ventured, after a brief hesitation.

Qui-Gon's intake of breath was audible; and the sudden tightening of mental shields was sufficient warning to his apprentice to venture no further. But he did not rebuff the accusation. "Perhaps," he admitted.

"It is easy to criticize our own lack of omniscience in hindsight," Obi-Wan offered, quietly.

The Jedi master's gentle smile fluttered ruefully in the Force. "Did a wise man say so? I must be more mindful."

"You must keep your focus in the present moment," the younger man agreed, forcing lightness into his tone.

"Indeed. We both have much to accomplish in a short span of time. My instincts tell me that the sooner we locate Master Gallia and Padwan Tachi, the better for all concerned."

Obi-Wan silently concurred, though he needed no subtle prompting of intuition to supply the sentiment: their dour surroundings, the memorial pillars outside the Absolute museum, and the fanatic cheers of the crowd at the People's Gathering were eloquent testimony to this planet's precarious hold on sanity. They were treading on the unstable summit of an active volcano.

"Yes, master," he meekly replied, and turned over to seek brief respite in sleep.

He did eventually find it, but not before his mind's eye wandered over the haunting images of his previous vision: white petals crushed underfoot and stained with crimson droplets, the denuded branches starkly beautiful, their twisted limbs tormented but unbroken, an etching of pained fortitude against a pitiless silver light. The image disturbed him greatly, and he banished it with a deep breath and not a small act of will, embracing instead the temporary oblivion of slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Obi-Wan sat slightly hunched over the study-terminal, with its flashing display screen and touch sensitive input plate, and released his frustration and boredom in a single long exhalation. He discreetly adjusted the audio feed stuck in his right ear, so that the lecturer's droning monotonic rant was reduced to a mere annoying buzz, a murmur like that of a pesky tisska gnat.

He dared a glance upward at the other students crammed in the wide lecture hall, every one of them similarly ensconced at an interactive terminal, eyes glazed over in acute ennui, postures conveying a hopeless resignation to their fate. He could not imagine the torment he would suffer if forced to attend this so-called Workers Guild Training Center and listen to the misinformed drivel and fallacious arguments propounded by its staff day after day, hour after hour, without end in sight. The dull looks in some of the others' eyes were blank and staring testimony to the efficacy of such pedagogy: any society determined to prevent its citizenry from thinking much beyond the slogan of the moment would do well to establish such intensive brainwashing centers.

His screen flashed with a demand for answers, and he tapped in what he assumed would be the correct reply, without so much as needing to listen to the exposition. After an hour or two, he had a good handle on the basic tenets of the New Absolutes' philosophy and historical revisionist tendencies. He amused himself by composing a caricatured response.

_Economic depression in our major urban centers and the continued struggle to establish profitable trade relations with surrounding systems is to be credited to the continued existence of Civilized influences on our government. The solution is a swift and thorough purge of all such detrimental ideas and those who disseminate them…. True progress cannot be achieved without the destruction of past corruption. Ewane and the early Libertarian Peoples Party constituted an unacceptable compromise. By permitting the Civilized faction to remain in existence on our planet they have impeded the true and inevitable Progress of Destiny, and slowed down our evolution toward absolute freedom and prosperity…._

"Very good, number 53," the instructor's voice rang out over the intercom .

Obi-Wan grimaced to himself. Enough time spent at diplomatic functions and one acquired an instinctual flair for this sort of nonsensical bombast. He frowned over the next prompt to make its appearance on the display screen, however.

_Describe the role played by the Republic and its Jedi agents in the incomplete revolution of the Peoples' Libertarian Party._

A quick glance to either side assured him that his companions already knew this answer by rote. They dutifully entered the desired information into their terminals, faces revealing only a placid boredom, that of pack animals trudging in a long-established rut.

It was time to stir the pot.

_Without Jedi intervention, as requested specifically by the Supreme Chancellor, the revolution would have taken on a violent aspect, resulting in the loss of innocent life and much bloodshed. The relative stability of the government in the last two decades, prior to the rise of the New Absolutes. is further to be credited to the constitutional addenda included at the behest of the Republic ambassadors._

He submitted the answer and leaned back, bracing himself for an outburst of indignation, or at least a bout of lively debate. But the bland voice of the course instructor merely requested that Desk 53 report to the podium after the lecture period was finished – a decidedly disappointing reaction. The endless monotony of the history lesson resumed uninterrupted, and he settled in for a long ordeal, hoping ruefully that Qui-Gon's investigations were proving more stimulating and fruitful than his own.

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn accepted a fiberfoam cup half-filled with tepid argees and nodded his gratitude to the slouching public servant who moved along the interminable line of visitors, distributing the not-quite-hot beverage and a standard admonition to wait patiently for admittance.

"The next available Coordinator will be with you shortly."

To the tall man's right, sprawled despondently over one of the waiting room's dilapidated couches, a grizzled man with lined features and a worn mech-union jumpsuit downed his serving in one gulp and tossed the crushed cup into the overflowing refuse receptacle. "Better'n a kick in the face," he observed wryly.

Taking this as an invitation to converse, Qui-Gon leaned forward. "Is it always so busy here? I was led to believe New Apsolis was more efficient and prosperous than our outlying municipalities."

The union worker showed his scorn by spitting on the worn carpet. "What? You a hick from the hills? People's Resources all go to the Purification effort. Not a lot of jobs left over, or much else. I been waiting here to be reassigned three, four months."

The Jedi master whistled low.

"No chisszk," his interlocutor assured him. "You came to the wrong place looking for work. What's your skill area, anyhow?"

"Astromechanics."

The grizzled technician released a bark of bitter laughter. "What? Kiss your chances goodbye. Didn't you hear the address yesterday? Interstellar's a Civvie luxury we don't need. Be surprised if the Newbs keep more'n a dozen spacecraft running, government use only. You'd do better to fake your creds… say you're a class delta all purpose mech laborer."

"I can't make a living on such wages," the tall man objected. "I have a son to support."

"All the same, comrade. I'd settle in and enjoy the caff if I were you. Nobody's getting a job here anytime soon, leastways until the Purification's done. Then we might get somewhere, see some real change. No more Civvie bugsquat holding us back."

Qui-Gon pursed his lips and subsided into a contemplative silence. Overhead, plastered to the opposite wall, a glittering holoposter of the new leader Eline smiled patronizingly down upon the lobby crammed with listless Workers waiting to be assigned to a taskforce for the New Collective. "Maybe it's time the Republic did something to help," he suggested quietly. "Lend support to Eline's reform programs."

The union man snorted. "Yeah, right. Republic's a cesspool run by effete Civvie barves. Sent a couple _Jedi_ over here to supervise the inauguration, did you hear? Flippin' pair of lady-monks, hoity-toity as they come. Cleared out a while back, I guess."

"They left.. or they were thrown out?" Qui-Gon inquired.

His companion chuckled at the thought. "Like to see that. Tell you what, though. They disappeared pretty fast, all of a sudden. I had a temp job on the decks at the port authority – and I swear to you, their ship's still there. Never got off planet. Want to know my theory?"

The Jedi master leaned in, conspiratorially.

"..I think they joined the Hill people. Ran off to live like swine with the other Civvies. But just as well. They can rabble rouse out there all they want – when the Purification hits, it'll take care of them just the same as everyone else."

"A consummation devoutly to be wished."

"What's that?" the grizzled mechanic wrinkled his nose. "Don't get fancy, comrade. Remember – _class delta all purpose_. That's your ticket."

Qui-Gon stood, feeling an acute need to stretch his long legs. "I'll remember that. My thanks, comrade."

He left the discontent mechanic and his rickety lounge to keep each other's company, and strode purposefully around the perimeter of the crowded foyer, mulling over the reputed disappearance of the Republic's ambassadors, and the grim portent posed by the abandoned ship, until a utility droid appeared from an inner office and requested all class delta general laborers to queue up at window four.

The Force told him to go, and he obeyed without hesitation, sparing a fleeting thought for his Padawan: it was to be hoped that Obi-Wan's morning had been far less tedious and frustrating than his own.

* * *

The courtyard outside the Workers' Training Guild secondary annex was as bleak and lifeless as the drab buildings surrounding it. Students clustered in knots of twos and threes, shoulders curved inward against the pervasive chill in the air.

"Used to be heat-lamps out here," one of the youths near Obi-Wan remarked. He nudged his head in the direction of the disused heating banks on their spindly supports. "But the People's Resources are better spent on Purification now."

That recurrent theme again. The young Jedi did not have to work hard to feign ignorance. " Purification? I thought we were done with all that."

A familiar face from the evening previous appeared, a dark-haired youth jostling his way into the small crowd gathered curiously about the newcomer. "They don't teach you anything in Corollon," the boy scoffed. "Things won't really get better round here until all the Civvies is gone. New Abs are gonna take care of them, and then we'll see. Might even get some decent heaters working here."

The speaker, who identified himself as Jass, was accepted as natural authority by the others, who nodded and murmured their agreement.

Perhaps a different tactic would produce better results. "Oh," the Padawan responded. "In that case, I'd like to be part of it. I'm a man of action…this studying business you can take and shove."

Jass offered him a smokestick, sniggering. "Right, mate, saw you got called to the podium after class. What'd they give ya?"

Obi-Wan accepted the narcotic offering casually, making a tiny shrug of indifference. "Nothing much. This card." He held up the datachit handed to him by the instructor, one informing him that he would not be permitted to return to any lecture hall on campus until he had received clearance from the Remediation Counselor.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Jass whistled through his teeth. "Kriff, Wan, what did you do? You don't get sent upstairs just for dozing off."

"I answered wrong, I suppose," he replied, carelessly. "Just some question about Jedi."

Jass lit his own smokestick and then passed the heat coil round. Soon they were wreathed in sinuous vines of smoke, soft blue creepers curling in the frigid air like so many curious eavesdroppers. "There were real actual Jedi here a while ago," he said. "When Eline got elected. You missed it."

"Real Jedi?" Wan raised a dubious eyebrow. "Please."

Another youth, Nnet, eagerly piped up. "No, they were real! Lightsabers and all. Of course, it was just a couple of dames. For the ceremonies. Not warriors or anything interesting."

Jass flicked ash over one shoulder. "I don't know, " he drawled. "That one – the young one – gods, what a looker. Highly interesting, I'd say. Jedi are pretty much Civvies, but boy I'd like to see that girl at Work, if you know what I mean." He ended with a ribald grin, winking broadly at all present.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw tight against a tectonic surge of fury. A scattering of dead leaves and pebbles lifted from the cracked duracrete pavement, carried by a hot and invisible current of wrath, and then settled again. Fortunately, nobody noticed. The young Jedi exhaled through his nostrils, willing his pounding heart to steady itself.

Jass misinterpreted his tight-lipped silence. "Don't look so stricken, mate. She's totally out of your league – Civvie snob, ice-maiden type.. Besides, they're gone. Gave the election their stamp of approval and headed home. That's what the public holocast said."

"Well," Wan managed to grumble, with a sullen air, "I don't see why the fuss over one wrong answer. How am I supposed to know anything about Jedi?"

Nnet shook his head. "If you don't know what to say, don't say _anything," _he intoned, mournfully. "Now you gotta deal with Remediation. Better you than me."

Another member of the motley crew snatched the ominous datachit from the Padawan's fingers and squinted grimly at its coded magneto-field. "You're totally kriffed," he muttered, handing it back with a morose look. Slowly, the hangers-on dispersed, sidling away as though afraid of contagion.

Jass remained another few moments. "Listen," he advised. "You might be a newbie around here, but only an idjit doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut." He tossed the entire pack of smokesticks to the apprentice tradesman from Corollon. "Here, keep 'em. You need 'em more than I do." And with this paltry gesture of solidarity, he ambled off in the opposite direction, leaving Wan to ponder his uncertain fate in the midst of the cold and empty square..


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors note:** _to honor the attentive reader who suggests that I limit the use of metaphors and similes to a more Cromwellian austerity, I have undertaken to Purge this chapter of all such distractingly florid and frivolous material. As Master Chakora Seva once said, true power is manifested through its abnegation. You see, like Obi-Wan, I am headstrong and have much to learn of the Living Force…. but I_ am_ capable._ –rb

* * *

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Personal belongings stowed in lockers, uniformly clad in Collective Taskforce jackets with the New Absolute insignia emblazoned on the sleeve, the workers filed obediently into the docking bay inside Apsolis' massive government complex. The dull tramp of boots resounded off high girders, the polished decks, the hulls of several battered shipping freighters moored at the far extremity of the cavernous hangar.

"This way," their task manager grunted, leading his detachment of laborers toward the last of these inbound spacecraft.

Qui-Gon noted the ship's make and specifications, and also the Telosian planetary seal upon its starboard side.

"Okay," the foreman directed the company. "Unload the cargo in both holds, sort onto palettes by tracking number , then take it to the corresponding warehouse. You'll be given assembly instructions once the unload is finished."

The Telosian freighter's cargo holds were huge, and packed with crates and plastoid containers of every size; the delta class all purpose workers did not care much whether one of their own discreetly disappeared while on the job. The Jedi master slipped adroitly between two towering rows of crates and crept along the line of palettes until he was well-hidden amid the labyrinth of shipping boxes. Their manifests were not informative:_ tech components _ could mean anything from illegal weaponry to pedestrian power cells for lamps and battery-drive tools. Casting a swift glance over one shoulder, he gathered the Force and broke the nearest crate seal, prying off the heavy lid with a wave of his hand.

Inside, nestled amid a downy bed of plastiform pre-pack, was a dissembled and inactive hunter-seeker droid, its ovoid carapace bristling with sensors and elongated extremities, a compact blaster cannon set beneath the domed processor and repulsor-generator units. The design was unmistakable Techno-Union, and obviously avante garde.

He had no doubt that he beheld a tool of "Purification," an imported technology designed specifically for targeted killing in uneven terrain. Mouth pressed into a thin line, he resealed the crate and reinserted himself into the line of workers propelling laden hover-palettes down the ramp.

In a matter of moments he was at the interior doors leading to a second hangar bay. Two uniformed security guards stood sentinel to either side.

"Sorry, no admittance – 'freshers are on the west side, behind the magneto-crane," one of them grunted at the tall man as he ambled forward.

Qui-Gon made a small gesture with his hand. "I am not here."

The sentries stared vacantly into the bustling cargo area, idly watching the other workers unload the frieghter's contents. The Jedi master opened the doors with another wave of his hand, and slipped through into the restricted area without further ado.

It did not take long to identify the missing Republic diplomatic shuttle, though it had already been given a new coat of paint and provided with New Apsolon's planetary insignia. He scurried across the echoing deck and took shelter from the roving cam-droid that burbled about overhead, maintaining a standard surveillance pattern. The shuttle's ramp was closed and the alarms set, but a carefully accrued stock of saboteur's lore enabled him to swiftly locate the relevant access panel and sever the appropriate circuits.

After creating a small distraction to occupy the cam droid, Qui-Gon slipped up the boarding ramp and into the empty ship, striding swiftly through the passenger hold and into the cockpit. Only the maintenance computer and the standby systems were online, and he did not dare activate the nav interface or flight log. Tapping fingers on the pilot's seat backrest, he mulled over the problem and then withdrew his comlink and wired it into the comm-sat array. The entire last week's transmission records were almost instantly uploaded to his device, and he pocketed the small object with a tight smile of satisfaction, noting that a simple technological tool could sometimes – occasionally – be nearly as powerful an ally as the Living Force. The Temple's resident communications expert had recently encrypted all Jedi ships and comm devices to be exclusively compatible, thus safeguarding against outside intelligence leaks.

_Unless Guerra Derrida applies his anti-register, master,_ Obi-Wan had cynically pointed out. _We would be better off writing messages on flimsi and setting them afloat in bottles if he's in one of his " unstealing" moods._

But the talented and incorrigible Phindian brothers were nowhere near - and so it was doubtful that the Apsolonian government had any access to the data presently stowed on his 'link. Qui-Gon waited for the right moment and then carefully retraced his steps, deftly rejoined the line of delta-class laborers just as the unloading task was finished.

He dearly hoped the information would provide a lead, some clue to their fellow Jedi's whereabouts. Time was running short.

* * *

"Enter."

Obi-Wan cautiously stepped forward into the small administrative office marked Remediation Counseling. The room contained a holo-portrait of Eline, the flag of New Apsolon, a pair of shabby chairs, and a portly man lounging at his ease behind a dilapidated desk. Metallic optic implants obscured this individual's eyes, giving him the peculiar expressionless mien of a droid, despite his quivering jowls and full lips.

"Ah… haven't seen you before. Sit down, son."

The young Jedi perched on the edge of a worn chair, wordlessly handing over the datachit given him by the morning's instructor. The Remediation Counselor slotted it into a scanner and regarded the data display built into his flat desktop. "Hm," he murmured, rumbling deep in his throat. "Grossly inaccurate historical knowledge. How did you progress to Level Twelve with such gaping holes in your education?"

"I'm from out of town, sir. This is my first day at the Guild."

The man leaned back, rigid optic plates staring wide-eyed and unblinking at the visitor. His face was marred by the livid rumples of acid burns, one side of his fleshy mouth pulled upward in a permanent leer. "That explains it. Well, seeing as you're a first time offender, I think this should be fairly easy. New Absolutes are committed to equality in education. Our new No Student Left Behind program ensures _uniformity_ in the learning process."

"I see," Obi-Wan responded, though he did not.

The Counselor lackadaisically tapped some information into his computer. "We'll sort you out in no time," he assured the confused youth. "Just step this way."

They passed through an interior door into a cold passage, and then descended far below ground level in a long lift-tube.

"Where are we going?" the Padawan inquired, a faint bad feeling tugging at the margins of awareness.

"Just the Remediation Center Annex. You're just a victim of poor teaching methods – this shouldn't be too intense. Just remember: Eline and the People's Collective have your own best interest at heart. Cooperate, and the remediation process will be short and painless."

The bad feeling blossomed into a distinct sense of apprehension, but Obi-Wan said nothing. As he followed the hefty Counselor into a subterranean tunnel lined in durasteel, he was suddenly aware of a new presence – the chiming echo of another Force-user, near at hand. His heart skipped a beat, his senses reaching, reaching for –

"Here we are." A massive double-reinforced door was flung wide, and they were issued into a blank chamber, its walls lined with a series of upright coffin-shaped capsules, each outfitted with a small viewport at face-level and a blinking control panel on one side.

A utility droid greeted them, accepting the datachit handed to it by the Counselor, who waved the reprobate student forward to the center of the room.

The whole space was awash with echoes, pained remnants of another's brief sojourn here. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, concentrating, seeking to follow the elusive trail to its origin –

"Level A basic conceptual redirectioning is all that is required," the droid intoned. "This way, please." It thrust a hard-edged manipulator in the direction of the nearest capsule, and opened its cover to reveal a recessed and padded interior in the shape of a basic humanoid form. "Step inside please. The process will take ten to thirty minutes, depending on your receptivity to corrective therapy."

Obi-Wan blinked, hesitating fractionally, feeling the invisible plenum tauten with clear warning. But the coffin gaping wide before him exuded a familiar _signature…_ the subtle aroma of mandrangea blossoms drifting in the turgid Force.

_Siri._

"Go on, son. We don't got all day."

A single deep centering breath, and he complied, flinching only slightly when the heavy cover was slammed shut scant centimeters from his face, enclosing him in claustrophobic darkness. The soft padding of the capsule's lining seemed to expand, pinning him in place on all sides; immediately afterward, a plethora of blunt rods whirred into position, pressing into him from behind the soft material. He squirmed, then subsided, allowing the Force to flow unimpeded, to wash away instinctual fear. He could still feel Siri's presence, her trace in the Force like a lingering perfume, and he focused on this one fact, determined to glean all that he could from this fleeting, ephemeral evidence.

A recorded voice spoke, perhaps piped in from outside, but clearly specifically programmed for his case. "Revision: Jedi interference during the People's Libertarian Revolution led to a compromised solution which has been detrimental to the vitality and ultimate longevity of our society during the last two decades. Reversal of these negative effects requires a return to pure principles as advocated by the New Absolutes, the voice and power of the Collective People."

Obi-Wan snorted softly to himself. What lamentably predictable obfuscation.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a vitriolic jolt of fire ripped through his limbs, bringing his heart into his throat and wringing a hoarse cry of pain from his throat. Panting, he deliberately unclenched rigid muscles and steadied himself. Think. Think. The rods surrounding him, pressing in on every side, must be electropulsors. His brain wave patterns must have betrayed the basic tenor of his reaction – it certainly hadn't been meek acceptance of the proposed doctrine. This was some kind of conditioning droid….

_To the hells with that._ He'd had enough of _that_ for a lifeti-

"Aaaagh!"

He stamped down his next flare of indignation, willing himself to relax.

"Revision," the voice repeated. "Jedi interference in during the People's Libertarain Revolution.."

He centered his focus completely upon the lingering traces of Siri Tachi, drowning out the repetitive droning of the voice. She had been here, not too long ago, undergoing the same sort of _nonsense_ to which he was presently being subjected. The Absolutes must be absolutely barmy to think they could bend Siri's will to their own – never had a more stiff necked Padawan graced the halls of the Temple, not within living memory, anyway. One might as well try to change the course of a roaring glacial river in flood than tell Siri Tachi what to think and how to think it –

"Subject non-responsive," the voice observed, dispassionately.

His inattention was punished with another severe dose of electric fire.

"_Stars' end!" _ This was the mild version? Pulse thrilling, pain still ringing in his ears, he gathered his momentarily scattered wits and grounded himself once more.

"Revision," the automaton began once more. "Jedi interference in the People's Libertarian Revolution led to –"

_…led to a horde of mynocks invading the capitol building and nesting in the rafters,_ Obi-Wan improvised,_ shorting out all the primary power sources and growing to obscene size until the arcades and grand entry salon were knee-deep in odiferous droppings and all legislative activity ceased while the fearless leaders of the People valiantly shoveled bat-chizzsk in the name of the common-_

He screamed aloud again, as the resultant dose of high voltage energy coursed through his veins.

Not good. The Absolutes were strict about impertinence, it would seem, far outdoing even Master Qui-Gon's expectations regarding minding one's thoughts. The last traces of Siri dissolved like morning mist under the last assault, leaving him shaking and breathless, and no further toward a solution either to the mystery or his own predicament.

The voice did not give up. "Revision: Jedi interference in the People's Libertarian Revolution led to a compromised solution…"

Focus. Focus. What would Qui-Gon do? _Focus determines reality._ The droning incantation came to an end, the bubble of expectant silence at its tail end yet unbroken. _Many truths that we cling to depend very greatly on our point of view. _ He relaxed, floating in the disjointed Force. Yes. There was a seed of truth there, depending how you approached the problem. From the Absolute's perspective, the establishment of tenuous peace would look like a compromise… the strength of Apsolon's society had been compromised – after all, raw strength was not necessarily a virtue, only a tool of moral commitment. One _could _express the facts in such a way.. from a certain point of view…

"Revision," the voice started yet again, though without intervening pain. "Jedi interference in the People's Libertarian revolution…"

The words washed over him, representing nothing more than a particular limited sentient perspective within the wide spectrum of perception and interpretation. The truth remained inviolably centered within the Light, unsullied by the refractions and perversions wrought upon it by sentient rhetoric and misrepresentation. The Absolutes' opinion merely buzzed in his ears harmlessly, a limited and fractured part of the truth, as all lies were at root. He felt no need to countermand the dictates of unreason, for his mind coursed within the Light, seeing the whole beyond the distorted part.

The voice ceased, and there was no further painful retribution exacted. A moment later, the coffin's lid creaked open, and he tumbled forward onto his knees, upon the hard floor of the empty chamber. The droid and the Remediation Counselor loomed over him, each surveying him with critical diagnostic abstraction.

"That wasn't so bad," the latter decided, staring at the young Jedi through bulging optic implants. "Here. Keep your blood sugar up."

A cup of muja juice was thrust under his nose, and he accepted it meekly, now intent on only on escape and making a report to Qui-Gon. If this was a taste of what treatment Master Gallia and her Padawan might have received at the hands of the Absolutes, he did not wish to waste another moment searching. They needed to move, and fast. He gulped down the sticky contents of the cup and rose to his feet shakily.

"Right," the brusque officer snapped. "This way. Back to class with you tomorrow, and I do believe you'll do better from here on out, won't you?"

They left the grim chamber behind, ascending from the underlevels back to the dreary city above.


	9. Chapter 9

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

The Apsolis Visitors' Hostelry – or detention center, depending on your point of view – seemed almost welcoming and cozy by comparison to the Remediation Annex. Obi-Wan entered the cell assigned to his and Qui-Gon's use with something bordering on nostalgia and sat down to pull off his boots and discard the duster. He ran two hands through his bristled hair and rolled his aching shoulders a few times before stretching out on the narrow cot. He could feel the Jedi master's presence – distinct but not yet inside the building, They had much to discuss, and though he was tense with eagerness to act, to _do _something, to _find_ the two missing Jedi, his every joint and muscle was also heavy with exhaustion.

He closed his eyes – just for a moment.

A long moment later, an gentle but insistent tugging on his thin Padawan braid brought him jolting back to shame-faced wakefulness.

"I take it the course of study at the Training Guild was demanding?" Qui-Gon inquired.

Obi-Wan levered himself upright, apologetically. "Rather." He massaged his neck with one hand. "The school has a _conditioning_ center for delinquent students."

The tall man's eyes sparked with humor. "In which, naturally, you managed to get yourself incarcerated within a matter of hours?"

"It was a matter of _infiltration_, master." Briefly, the Padawan outlined his adventures in the Remediation Annex, while Qui-Gon listened in grave silence.

"Well," he observed when his apprentice's recitation was at an end, "That ranks nowhere near the top of your long annals of misadventures, but it deserves an honorable mention. I am glad," he added, "that you were able to remain centered and find your way out of the conundrum. Well done."

Obi-Wan glanced up earnestly. "I remembered your teachings, master – focus determines reality, and the importance of shifting one's perspective."

Qui-Gon's brows rose. "And all it took was acute neurological abuse? I must reconsider my teaching methods, I think."

The Padawan quirked a small rueful smile at this jest. After a moment's hesitation, he sobered, brows drawing together. "Siri had been there – recently. I felt it quite clearly."

The Jedi master nodded. "Possibly she attended the Guild just as you did – for the sake of _infiltration_. Doubtless her sweet and submissive disposition would have invited similar recognition… as I recall, Padawan Tachi and you are of the same ilk in that respect."

Obi-Wan scowled at his hands, folded together between his knees. "Yes, master."

"Do not focus on the negative," Qui-Gon advised him, firmly. "She may have been there, but that does not necessarily point to her present whereabouts." He took his comlink out of its pouch and set about adjusting the replay function. "I have nothing so dramatic to brag about, for all my work today… but I was able to find Master Gallia's shuttle and upload the transmission log."

His Padawan perked up at this news. "Communications beyond the message she sent to the Council?"

"It is to be hoped so," the older man replied. He linked the comm device to a compact projector and held the disc flat in his broad palm. A tiny blue effigy of Adi Gallia appeared, shimmering slightly above the holo-plate.

"Please re-transmit to Coruscant, alpha priority, relay frequency Aurek 46. This is Jedi master Adi Gallia, presently on assignment on New Apsolon. The Council should be informed that the election process has been corrupted; a small dictatorial faction has usurped power in the capitol and surrounding cities, and plans a genocidal attack on the outlying settlements in rural areas, targeting members of the marginalized classes formerly known as Civilized. I will forward more details when I am able. My Padawan and I will depart from the capitol city to initiate an emergency evacuation of known mountain settlements. I request Republic aid to move the affected populations to a refugee station prior to the planned attack. We will make every effort to counter the aggressors' actions, but I deem the situation a full-scale emergency. Negotiations with the current leadership have failed, and we are presently in hiding within the city precincts. I repeat, send Republic aid as expeditiously as possible…"

Master and apprentice met each other's gaze as the recording fizzled into a blur of blue light.

"This transmission was never successfully sent. Communications may be blocked." Qui-Gon grimly tucked the holoplate and comlink away. "And now time has run short. Hunter-killer droids are already on planet and half-assembled. There isn't time to summon further aid; we will have to organize evacuation and defensive measures ourselves."

"But-"

"It is likely Master Gallia and Padawan Tachi are with the Civilized settlements now. The energy field protecting Apsolis would prevent any long range transmissions between here and there. We will have to commandeer transport and make a journey to locate them."

Obi-Wan shifted restlessly. "I.. master, I don't – with all due respect, I think that they are still in the city."

Qui-Gon tilted his head to one side. "The Living Force is full of warning, Padawan… do you not sense it? The protection of innocents is our foremost mandate – Master Gallia herself expressed an intention to flee to the hills. And rumor in the city says that the Jedi ambassadors have left the capitol."

But his apprentice dug in his heels. "In the Remediation center earlier, master – I had a _bad_ feeling about it. There is a… connection. I can almost grasp it. My instincts tell me to look deeper, here in Apsolis. The New Absolutes are cruel enemies. And surely Master Gallia would have sent a second courier message to Coruscant if she made it as far as the Civilized?"

"They might not have spacecraft available," Qui-Gon pointed out. "They are extremely impoverished, according to all accounts."

Obi-Wan reined in his mounting frustration and lowered his fierce gaze. "Yes, master."

"You still disagree."

The young Jedi did not deny it. Qui-Gon placed a hand on his shoulder. "You must be guided by me in this. I feel our path lies in the direction of the outlying settlements. Lives are at stake. They need help."

"Yes, master."

It was neither a forced accord nor a complete harmony of wills. But the vital bonds of discipline and the obligations of respective rank and duty outweighed personal misgivings. Obi-Wan offered no further objection, lapsing into a pensive silence.

And the hostelry's lights chose that moment to abruptly switch off, plunging them once again into utter night. "Let us take a few hours' rest and make our next move before dawn," Qui-Gon decided. "That at least constitutes a better use of time than fruitless brooding."

A slow exhalation warmed the darkness between them. "Yes, master."

And so they lay down, each on his insufficient palette, to pursue elusive sleep. Obi-Wan lay awake brooding – contrary to orders – for a long while, until his overworked nerves rose in revolt and conspired to overthrow his resolve. His first soft snores elicited an unseen smile from the watchful elder Jedi, who promptly rolled over and followed his apprentice's fine example.

* * *

_He wandered among the labyrinth of blue columns, pillars of translucent fire frozen in time. Faces watched him as he passed, score upon score of dead eyes mournfully following his halting progress. Every memorial shaft seemed to point downward, spears thrust harshly into the planet's viscera, a thousandfold accusing finger showing the way._

_The sky darkened with the Force, cold wind rising as his breath ratcheted into desperation. White petals skittered and whirled on the icy air, whipped into his face, scattered among the rigid blue columns. Cries rose form the distant hills, a lamentation echoing off the crimson-stained dome of the heavens, voices calling for him to come, to make haste. Qui-Gon's voice was among them, bidding him desist and obey…_

_He fell to his knees, frost bitten fingers scrabbling at the hard earth, digging and scraping away at the crumbling soil, seeking what lay beneath. _

_Come, the vibrant chorus on the horizon commanded… but he dug until his fingers bled and red droplets smeared with grime upon his white tunics. Just a bit further – a bit further, and –_

The vision was suddenly broken, shattered to color and confusion by an anguished cry, a piercing call sounding in the inmost sanctuary of his soul.

_Oh, Force!_ the voice cried out, immediate, present, clarion-clear. _No! Force no!_

He gasped in recognition, in vicarious terror. Siri. Siri, here. Now. In pain.

_Help me, Obi-Wan!_

He bolted into full awareness, blood afire with the need to act. The hostelry ceiling stretched overhead, invisible but darkly looming. The black of night was textured by no sound but Qui-Gon's gentle breaths and the wild throbbing of perturbation in his own ears. Obi-Wan rolled upright, winnowing present sensation from harrowing vision, steadying himself with the Force's omnipresent ballast.

"…Qui-Gon?"

A soft stirring in the lightless room. Obi-Wan breathed deeply, dragging his mind out of the tempestuous sea onto the solid shores of Light.

"What is it?" The Jedi master's serene voice banished the last ghostly remnants of the dream.

"Master… another vision."

"You are certain? Padawan… visions are not –"

"We need to stay. They _are_ here. In the city. I _know_ it. I've…I've _seen_ it." Though he hadn't – not exactly. And yet the certitude lay deep within him, as unyielding as the rigid pillars of glass on Apsolis' memorial hill. Siri. Siri had called for him. She was here.

Qui-Gon exhaled audibly. The Force murmured with suppressed vexation as he stood and paced the length of the tiny chamber. "We have already reached a resolution," he said, softly.

"Yes, master. I know. I – this doesn't come from my own will. This is a message from the Force." The Padawan struggled to keep his voice calm, devoid of unbecoming emotion. Too much was at stake. Siri. Siri. Her name drummed in his pulse, a martial tune urging him to _go, _to fly to the rescue.

"Ah." The tall man sat beside him on the creaking mattress. Their shoulders brushed, and a broad hand found Obi-Wan's knee. "So it is not my apprentice but the universe itself that argues with my decision?"

"I intend no disrespect."

"I did not say that you did. But: you know that Unifying vision can be treacherous."

Obi-Wan's gut clenched momentarily, but he dispelled the gathering tension on a long breath, closing his eyes in the smothering darkness.

"If we delay here, we endanger the outlying communities. Is that risk one you are willing to take?"

The Padawan swallowed. There was _no_ risk. There was only the Force. And Siri, who needed him. Now. "They _are_ here, master. This isn't a glimpse of the future – it's in the present moment, now. In the city… _under _it. Beneath the Absolute museum. There must be a bunker or a subterranean stronghold. We can't leave without them."

"And if I say no?" Challenge coiled mutely in the warm air, loyalty and intuition drawn up in opposing lines, facing off across a n impalpable battlefield.

Obi-Wan was on his feet in the next instant. "Master, please. Siri is here. I can feel her. She's in pain. You always say to trust my instincts. To trust the Force. We have to go. _Now._"

Qui-Gon towered over him, reining in unbecoming passion with a single sharp word. "Padawan."

Three panicked breaths, muted into trembling stillness by an act of sheerest will and the subtle brush of a broad hand against a dangling braid. "Master."

"Answer me, Obi-Wan: will you be guided by me in this?"

A long silence, in which six long years were compressed into a measureless singularity. Obi-Wan shut his eyes, despair closing his throat, and bowed his head. "…Yes."

The tall man held his apprentice by the shoulders. "Good." His grip tightened in reassurance. "The Living Force often speaks through individuals … occasionally, it would seem, even a Jedi Padawan." A moment's pause as trust settled between them, a gracious pilgrim arriving home. "We shall seek Master Gallia and Padawan Tachi here in Apsolis."


	10. Chapter 10

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

The streets of Apsolis were utterly devoid of life – arteries and veins emptied of their vital blood, lying gutted and hollow beneath the baleful glow of the protective energy field, a tangled network of intersecting silences.

"Master."

The warning was issued in a voice so low that the sound died before it crossed his lips; and yet there was no need to speak aloud. Qui-Gon signaled his understanding with a terse nod of the head, and the two Jedi ducked into the shadow of a refuse collection crate as the hovering patrol droid purred by, optic lens rotating atop its domed head.

They waited until the Force smoothed into a more uniform tension. "We'll approach the Museum from the east side," the Jedi master decided, and they crept back into the labyrinth of canyons between the shuttered buildings, trenches carved between neighbors, between districts, between classes – the fractured scars of the planet's long history of strife.

"Another," Obi-Wan whispered a moment later, staggered by the New Absolutes' sheer paranoia. They had encountered twelve separate droids in less than ten minutes, so many private suspicions flittering through the city like dark thoughts in a tyrant's mind.

Qui-Gon muttered something imprecatory under his breath as they threw themselves belly-first beneath a parked tram. Obi-Wan smiled to himself; he would remember that Huttese curse and the occasion of its unbecoming utterance for future reference, though _the present moment_ was not perhaps the most appropriate one in which to twit his revered master.

The floating sentinel passed them by again, the Force concealing them within its ethereal folds. They relaxed, rigid postures slackening minutely. A strand of Qui-Gon's hair fluttered as he released a long breath of frustration. A small native insect chirruped softly, complaining about the invasion of its privacy. Obi-Wan stifled a sneeze. The seeker droid reversed direction and returned, passing by their position thirty seconds after its first circuit, scanner beam sweeping over the gravel a half-meter from their faces.

They counted the seconds in unspoken unison. One. Two. Three. Qui-Gon tapped his apprentice's shoulder and in a heartbeat they had rolled backward, slipping out from the tram's scant shelter and onto their feet, sprinting for the gentle rise of the memorial hill.

Obi-Wan felt the thing turn, felt the Force's warning. He ducked beneath the blast aimed at his back, and stayed down as Qui-Gon's saber sliced through the air just above him. Metal shards and slagged circuits tumbled over his shoulders, thudding softly in the short-cropped vegetation underfoot.

"Perimeter sensors," the tall Jedi grunted, leading the way upward.

They entered the forest of blue columns, the tiers of pallid glass reflecting the angry glare of the domed roof, the faces of the dead sleeplessly watching as two strangers made a swift and stealthy egress through their ranks to the very summit of the shadowed rise. As they set foot over a second invisible boundary line, a pair of angry spheroid droids appeared around the dark bulge of the Museum's edifice, whizzing at the intruders from opposite directions.

Master and apprentice called upon the Force at the same instant, seizing the droids and slamming them headfirst into each other. An explosive shower of sparks and broken components echoed against the marble slab of the low building, and then silence again blanketed the hill.

The Museum doors were locked. Qui Gon pointed meaningfully at the control panel and took up a defensive stance just beneath the shallow roof overhang. Obi-Wan crouched before the access panel, prying it off and studying the crossed and twisted wires with a slight frown stamped on his features. After a moment's careful consideration, he withdrew the small knife stowed in his boot and applied its tip to a cluster of small connections, then punctured the housing unit of another.

He almost yelped when the resultant sparks burrowed into the exposed skin of his hand, but the doors did slide open without an alarm sounding. He thrust the Vespari blade back into its concealed sheath and pressed the throbbing burn against his tunic's hem.

Qui-Gon's fingers closed about his wrist and lifted the injury up to his eye-level for closer inspection. "Hm." He released his Padawan and gestured into the tunnel beyond, a polished corridor lit by recessed blue lamps, slanting down into the hill's bowels. Holo-placards set into the walls told the story of the old Absolutes, deactivated image-plates standing ready to cast lurid recreations of scenes and individuals into the damp air.

They swept down the main aisle and through an adjacent gallery before the automated night-guard found them. It ended in a smoking heap upon the floor, just beneath a display featuring a historical anti-tech protest in the capitol city.

Obi-Wan flourished his blade in a wide cautionary circle and deactivated it, the signature snap and hiss painfully loud in the still chamber.

"This is the bottom level of the public museum," Qui-Gon informed his companion, referring to the directory conveniently posted by the door. "Where to next?"

The Padawan hesitated, glancing up in mild alarm at his mentor, who stood placidly by the interior entrance, arms folded patiently across his chest, posture conveying neither irony nor any hidden test.

"We are here at the prompting of your intuition," the tall man continued, encouragingly. "Do not lose heart. Let the Force guide you, not only at the outset of your actions but through to their very end. It is not merely a signpost, but a powerful and present ally."

The young Jedi blinked in surprise. He was to lead?

"_The Force_ leads; we follow," the Jedi master assured him. "Trust your feelings."

"Yes, master." In the vision, the Force-given certainty of that awful nightmare, he had been digging, the memorial columns thrusting like spears downward, his every effort bent on penetrating through to some indistinct underworld. "We need to go down." Frowning, he studied the map affixed to the bland wall. "But there aren't any lifts or access shafts that go further than this."

Qui-Gon chuckled, and obscured the schematic with one hand. "Your feelings, not the map," he instructed. "You think too much, Obi-Wan."

Disgruntled, his apprentice allowed his gaze to slide sideways. "Fine. We shall take the lift tube to an imaginary level far below us."

"Good." The tall man clapped him on the shoulder and strode across the room to the lift entrance. The polished doors slid open at a wave of his hand.

Inside, Obi-Wan glared at the operating panel. There was no indication of any level below this one, nor any manual touch control. A soft recorded droid voice – female, with a Core accent – inquired which floor they needed. The Padawan glanced upward at Qui-Gon, perplexed, but the older man merely and waved a vague hand at him, blandly delegating the task.

"The basement where prisoners are kept," the Padawan snapped, sarcasm edging his tone with mild acid.

"Very good," the obliging automaton droned, and the lift lurched downward, humming as it descended into the depths.

Qui-Gon smiled in the dim lighting. "The direct approach is often best," he observed, nonchalantly.

Obi-Wan's hand tightened about his weapon's hilt. If that was so, and the undeniable sense of dread spreading in the Force like an ugly stain were to be heeded, he was ready for a very direct approach indeed.

* * *

No sooner had the lift doors opened at the base of the seemingly fathomless shaft than Obi-Wan stepped backward, almost physically knocked over by the wave of malice rolling through the Force. He came up against Qui-Gon's sturdy frame, accidentally treading on the Jedi master's left foot, and steadied himself with a colossal effort.

"Easy," the tall man breathed, though he exuded a similar, bone-deep repugnance.

They stared down the length of a lightless black tunnel, a throat lunging into the maw of an ancient and bitter evil. Sadistic laughter hung from the rough concave walls, an invisible tapestry portraying the annals of suffering. Despair seeped and pooled on the polished flagstones, slicking them with an ice colder than space's vacuum. The Padawan lurched forward out of the small lift carriage into the thick darkness, hand already fast about his saber's hilt, eyes piercing through the gloom for any sign of door or conjoined passage.

Behind him, Qui-Gon sucked in a sharp breath. "They are here," he murmured, with a touch of apology. "You were right."

But the oppressive weight of the Force in this dismal prison choked off any pert reply. Obi-Wan wished, for the briefest of moments, that he had been wrong, and his visions nothing but the delusional fears of youth or inexperience. For now, beneath the colossal first wave of revulsion, a second, sickening disturbance in the Force made itself felt. There were other Jedi here, indeed. And in pain.

Qui-Gon's grey eyes were limpid with the same dismay. "We may have to fight our way out," the Jedi master murmured. "There is no time for finesse, I fear."

His apprentice nodded, lowering his reflexive mental shields another notch. The tormented Force flooded in, twisting his gut into melting dread, but also carrying to his inner hearing a faint moan, a broken sigh within the invisible currents.

"Siri." He started forward again like a hound on the scent, Qui-Gon hard upon his heels. The tunnel ended in a heavy blast door, double barricaded and sealed shut against all intruders.

"There are guards on the other side," the tall man observed. "And there will be automated security."

The Padawan pressed one palm flat against the massive panels. He could sense the two missing women clearly, their inherent light smearing and strangely bent, contorted by the perverse lens of deliberate cruelty. His indignation swelled, coursing through him in a mounting wave. The doors groaned beneath his regard, creaking ominously.

"Wait," Qui-Gon cautioned, breaking the spell. He raised one hand, pointing to the dull outline of an access hatch in the stone ceiling. "This far beneath the surface, a wide venting system is essential. One of us will infiltrate, the other create a distraction." He pried the cover off with a controlled use of the Force, revealing a dusty black hole leading into an overhead tunnel.

Obi-Wan's brows rose. Both these functions – crawling in tight spaces and playing the part of bait – customarily fell to a Padawan's lot. For a brief moment he entertained hope of creating the "distraction," but one look at the narrow opening above and his aspirations were dashed on the rocks of pragmatism. "Let me guess," he grumbled.

"I would never fit up there," his mentor smirked, offering his interlaced hands as a leg-up.

The Padawan snorted derisively at the proferred help and leapt clear into the opening, grunting a bit as he crammed himself over the ledge and into the smothering confines of the shaft. He shimmied along, dragging himself through the musty pathway with many an unuttered curse, worming his way into the very bowels of the Absolutes' stronghold. Below, he could hear the sizzling dissonance of a saber blade thrust summarily through half-meter thick durasteel, followed by a piercing klaxon. Master Qui-Gon was never one to waste effort on needless delicacy. His _distraction_ was more in the order of a full frontal assault.

Ten meters down the narrow causeway, he came up against a second vent. Underneath, the tramp of boots hurried down another dim passage.

"Security breach at the main entrance – they've got some kind of plasma cutter at the doors!"

Another gruff voice barked in reply. "Those damn Civilized! Should have wiped 'em out twenty years ago – let's go!"

The voices faded, urgency rippling in their wake. Something exploded in the room behind … possibly the blast doors' main power cell shorting out as the emerald saber blade pierced its housing. Obi-Wan gathered himself, drawing in the turbulent Force on a deep breath, and kicked his way through the grill, landing in a crouch upon cold flagstones.

This passage was lined with identical doors – windowless slabs of metal, triple reinforced. He passed the first, the second… here. His weapon leapt from its hilt, a blue tongue of fire spitting and humming with outrage. The locking mechanism melted instantly, but the heavy bolt took a moment to carve through, sending fluorescent rivulets of slag to the floor. He shoved the door open, and surged through into a wide room, heart pounding. Coffin-shaped boxed were fixed to the walls, most of them gaping hungrily. An interrogation droid pivoted about, red optics glittering in irate surprise.

Its head bounced off the nearest capsule. Obi-Wan's fingers scrabbled at the controls, seeking the release.

"Blast it." Combination coded. His saber sliced off the entire fixture, then the hinges. He wrenched the ponderous cover open, gasping in unison with the slender figure that tumbled into his arms, clutching at his shoulder and sleeve.

"Master Gallia!"

The elegant Tholothian Jedi sagged in his grip, sucking in pained breaths, her luminous eyes half-closed. Close-cropped curls crowned her head, her traditional headdress missing entirely. Strong fingers dug into his flesh as she hauled herself upright, the Force thundering storm-like about her center.

"Kenobi," she rasped, lines of anguish carved into her fine-carved features. "Where is Siri?" She doubled over, panting, then tried to push him away as he lent support. "I'm fine...my Padawan. Quickly."

"She's not here?"

Adi Gallia shook her head, leaning heavily on him, despite her momentary protest. "Another cell," she gritted out. "Obi-Wan – find her for me."

He nodded once, swallowing down a hard knot of fear. The Jedi master sank to her knees upon the cold floor, the Force gathering in gentle coils about her. Outside, sounds of battle rang harsh against the stone: blaster bolts, shouting, and then the blazing scream of a saber in full swing. There was _no time._

He skidded back into the corridor and slewed about, the raging Force so churned with strife and emotion, so confused and muddy that he could feel nothing else, nothing –

But just as a cry of desperation welled up in his throat, a beam of clear light cut across the tumult. He flew down the passage, nearly ramming into the door at its extremity. Emotion rose within him unchecked, a dangerous torrent of hope and need. The door broke free of its moorings, crashing into a wall far beyond. His voice broke free of its own tenuous anchor, shouting out his outrage in a single ringing syllable.

"_Siri!"_

She stirred, dirty face streaked by trailing tears, and cringed back against the grime- crusted wall, blue eyes wide with horror.


	11. Chapter 11

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

"Obi-Wan!" Siri Tachi exclaimed, pushing unsteadily to her feet. "What- I – what are you doing here?"

His saber snapped back into its hilt, his breath shuddering as relief flooded through his veins. She was alive – not the frozen corpse of recent eviscerating premonition. "Rescuing you," he retorted, nonplussed.

A thin ribbon of tangled gold fell over Siri's face, brushing one high cheekbone and the corner of a perfect mouth. "You're a little _late,"_ she snarled at him, whiplash emotion sizzling in the Force between them.

He blinked. "Siri-"

"Well, _play the kriffing hero, _then," she growled, shoving off the wall and limping forward. She slapped away his hands, refusing assistance. "Which way is the exit?"

Outside the corridor, blaster fire pinged and blared. Sudden death exploded in the turbulent Force, open wounds bleeding in its depths. "I'm not sure. I.. I felt your presence, and we came –"

"_Some_ rescue," his fellow Padawan shot back, stumbling past him and into the hallway, face drawn in a tight grimace of pain. "Where is my master?"

The tramp of feet thundered in the passage, and an instant later red plasma bolts ricocheted off the stone walls. Obi-Wan thrust himself between his unarmed companion and the new threat, blue blade springing back to life with a deep growl. Three uniformed Apsolonian guards pounded down the hall, weapons spewing a hailfire of bolts. The young Jedi withstood the charge, deflecting the barrage of shots, cold fury guiding his hand. The screaming projectiles glanced off his 'saber, thrumming murderously back at their origin. Two of the men fell; the third leapt forward, an enraged cry in his throat, unloading his weapon at point blank range. The blue saber spun wildly, catching most the shots. One hit the ceiling and showered down sparks; the last singed past Obi-Wan's shoulder, even as his assailant lunged forward swinging the emptied blaster like a club. A Force shove sent him careening into the far wall, where his body sagged limply to the floor.

Stunned by the devastation blossoming around him, Obi-Wan gasped at the violent backlash in the Force.

Siri gasped alongside him, teeth gritted against the sickening lurch in the universal energy, her eyes wide with a renewed wave of horror. Obi-Wan reached for her arm, only to be rebuffed once more. She pushed past him, tottering through the doorway into the small chamber where Adi Gallia still knelt in meditation posture.

Obi-Wan paused in the doorframe, weapon raised in defensive readiness, senses stretched taut for any sign of reinforcements or further assault. Qui-Gon swept into the corridor a moment later, saber hilt still in his grip, his grey eyes hard with contained anguish. There had been many deaths in the chamber beyond; the battle had already claimed a harsh toll.

"Master." Obi-Wan's heart slammed against his ribs, demanding release from the nightmare of accomplished fact, of irrevocable deed.

But there was no time for regret. The Jedi master's gaze conveyed a fleeting sympathy, a promise of future counsel - but when he spoke, it was with the calm voice of authority. "We must move. The alarm has been raised; we are now fugitives."

They turned as one to address their companions. Siri knelt before the older woman, shoulders shaking. Adi Gallia's head was bowed over her Padawan, her palsied hands stroking gently over disheveled golden hair. "I am sorry, child… I could not yield even to spare you…. So many lives are at stake… our duty must come first."

"I know," Siri sobbed.

Obi-Wan looked up in confusion. _Master... what has happened? _ A terrible thought formed in his deepest instinst, an ugly head rearing from molten depths, and then disappered again as he moored himself in the Jedi master's steady presence.

Qui-Gon's eyes softened, his unspoken reply weighted with long experience. _Compassion, young one. Siri will need your friendship._

"Adi."

The Tholothian craned her head round, meeting Qui-Gon's knowing gaze. "Yes. We must escape while there is hope. There is an access shaft leading to the surface. Follow me." She stretched out an arm for support, and the tall man wordlessly hauled her to her feet. Even severely compromised, Adi Gallia's inherent dignity shone in her clear eyes and the upright bearing of her head. "Come, Padawan."

Obi-Wan stepped closer, offering Siri his own hand, but his gesture was ignored. Frustrated and uncomprehending, he glanced up at Qui-Gon again, but the Jedi master only shook his head softly, a warning to desist.

Siri staggered along beside her master and Qui-Gon as the foursome made their way to an adjacent passage and then through an abandoned guardroom, Obi-Wan bringing up the rear.

"Are there other prisoners here?" Qui-Gon murmured.

Adi's mouth tightened in remembered pain. "No longer," she answered, on a sighing exhalation. "They were… used as test targets. For the new hunter-seekers."

"Then the Absolutes are ready to set their plans in motion," the tall Jedi master grimly concluded. "We must not delay any further."

Their progress was barred by a heavy door, this one marked with a gleaming placard. _Authorized Personnel Only, _it proclaimed in officiously large print.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon ordered.

The Padawan sank his saber blade deep into the sign's center and carved a wide circular opening, careful to obliterate the word _Authorized_ in the process. He kicked the makeshift door inward, its molten edges reflected in the polished tile beyond. More alarms sounded overhead, signaling their trespass.

The Jedi needed no further encouragement to quit the premises. They hastened up the black passage, the slope headed at a steady incline toward the surface. Their pace lagged as Adi and her Padawan tired, the Force bearing ample testimony to the abuse inflicted upon them at the Absolutes' hands. Halfway to the summit, Siri stumbled and fell.

"No," she hissed, as Obi-Wan's arm came round her shoulder, one hand extended to take hers.

Leaning heavily on Qui-Gon, Adi Gallia fixed her apprentice with a sharp look. "Allow him to assist you," the Tholothian barked, her own voice cracking with exhaustion. "Do not be a fool."

Siri made a strangled noise in her throat and allowed her fellow Padawan to lever her upright. He pulled her tight against his own side as she wavered on her feet, and pulled her arm over his own shoulders.

"Siri, I don't-"

"Just _move,"_ she snapped, turning her face away.

They trudged onward, four pair of footfalls drumming an irregular cadence in the darkness, the Force like frenetic lightning strung between them, its invisible fire compacting their shared purpose into a unity of strengths.

At last they attained the far exit and the shadowed haven of Apsolis' streets. The tunnel issued them into an alley on the far outskirts of the city, just under the base of a generator tower feeding the energy-field above. A security skiff soared by overhead, search lights crossing and re-crossing the streets' disorderly grid.

Adi pointed across the enclosure surrounding the generator. "My contacts," she rasped. "A vehicle with security clearance provided…. We must warn the Civilized."

"Your contacts?" Qui-Gon's attention was riveted by this new development.

The Tholothian master nodded weakly, closing her eyes and sinking down against the tower's base. "Resistance within the city. Foreign powers are sponsoring the new regime… Ewane assassinated, not a natural death… must …" her words slurred and faded as her head lolled forward. Qui-Gon caught her gently, grey eyes flicking upward to the two Padawans watching in appalled silence. He sucked in a deep breath.

"She needs help. Padawan Tachi, where are these contacts to be located?"

Siri swallowed. "The old university campus. Ask for the janitor when you arrive. They know Master Gallia - they might have medics…"

"Good. Obi-Wan. Take Padawan Tachi and seek out the Civilized. You may have to convince them of your benign intentions – they may harbor prejudice against Jedi, due to past events."

His heart sank at this mandate, but argument was out of the question. Time wasted in debate might mean a death sentence for all of them – Jedi and exiled Civilized alike. "Yes, master." He glanced briefly at Siri, whose blue eyes shone with a hard light, the forced emotionless distance of a starfield, her pale face composed in a mask of unnatural calm.

Qui-Gon hefted Adi onto his broad shoulders and waved the two Padawans off in the opposite direction. "I will be in contact – but if a crisis should develop, you must act as you see fit. May the Force be with you."

"Master –"

The tall man held his gaze for a long moment, forbidding both objection or the exchange of distracting sentiment. "The Force leads, we follow," Qui-Gon gravely reminded his apprentice, and then he was gone, melding into the shadows between buildings like a specter flitting among gravestones, leaving them crouched behind a small overhang in shocked silence.

* * *

"Well."

"Nice," Siri remarked, tightly. "I hope you're competent on a swoop without aft stabilizers. That's the vehicle of choice around here." Her voice was sharp, the serrated edge of her words ample defense against any personal questions.

"I can handle it," Obi-Wan assured her, in tones that matched her own brusque manner. "So long as there's no backseat driver."

He immediately regretted the reflexive taunt, but the ice in Siri Tachi's eyes thawed a trifle, the familiar exchange of insult and sarcasm a thin but sufficient comfort. "If you're done _talking,_ Kenobi, we can get a move on."

She allowed his fingers to close about her own – the skin chill and clammy beneath his cautious grip – and lead her through the piebald field of shadow and light cast by the tower and its glowing dome. Behind the furthest generator station a rickety grav-bike awaited them, two Apsolonian security guards' jackets and caps tossed in a rumpled heap over its guidance bars. They donned the stiff clothing, peering at one another critically.

"You look ridiculous," Siri snorted.

Obi-Wan flashed a grin. "We match." He clambered onto the pilot's seat, waiting for Siri to settle behind him She winced and sucked in a deep breath as she straddled the narrow support behind him, knees pressing against his thighs, arms coming round his ribs in a hard grip more evocative of a wrestler's hold than an embrace.

"Don't crash us, you chosski. Garen says you're hopeless with machines."

He revved the powerful repulsor drive. "The Ag-Corps could use Garen's opinions to fertilize crops." They shot forward, skimming the edge of the city's retaining wall, the orange glare of the energy field frowning down upon them as they sped through the night.

The checkpoint at the exit gates was already teeming with police bearing the Absolutes' insignia upon their uniform sleeves.

"Fierfek," Siri whispered. "There has to be another way out."

"No," Obi-Wan countered. "We'll hide in the open." He pushed their vehicle forward, rudely cutting off another driver waiting in the long inspection queue.

"You there!" he called out to the nearest official. "I say! You!"

"Kenobi!" Siri hissed, fingers digging into his flesh.

"Shh. Let me handle this." The guardsman ambled over to them, brows raised in challenge. "You. Clear this mess. We're coming through. Special courier service from Eline."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Papers," he grunted.

Obi-Wan's chest swelled in affront. "We don't require your approval," he said, the Force girding his statement with absolute authority. "We are a _special_ courier service, and you will let us through _immediately._"

The Apsolonian turned dully toward the gate, signaling an associate with one hand. His stunned gaze returned to the young Jedi, his eyes not quite focused properly.

"And it has been your _honor_ to accommodate us," Obi-Wan added.

Siri pinched him hard, eliciting a tiny grunt of pained contrition.

The dazed man made them an obsequious bow as they shot forward, wending their way through the crush of impatient vehicles and irritated inspectors. The ray-shielded gates snapped open, and they sped through into the barren freedom of Apsolon's high plateau, accelerating hard toward the line of ragged hills on the northern horizon.

"All right, I admit that went better than I expected," Siri grudgingly allowed when they had put a few klicks between themselves and the ominous glow of the city's dome, a second sun perpetually glowering on the horizon. Ahead, the true sun broke over the mountains' blue silhouettes, crowing their snow-capped peaks in fire.

"You should have more faith," Obi-Wan teased, suddenly aware of her body pressing against his, of the wind sweeping over both of them in an endless river, of the shuddering thrum of the swoop beneath him.

"Don't get cocky," she snapped back, her head leaning forward against his shoulder blades. Her grip tightened, settling beneath his ribs in a tight circle.

He opened the throttle to full and soared over the hard-packed earth, outracing even his own coursing blood, the maddened swirl of thoughts in his mind, the urgent prompting of the Force in his thrilling heart. Danger lay ahead, behind, and yet also within, nestled close against him even as the eerie landscape blurred away to a dream on either side.


	12. Chapter 12

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

The ruined skeletons of Apsolis' old university buildings sketched a stark and mangled calligraphy against the lurid backdrop of the energy-dome. Blackened girders and crumbling roofs stood as testimony to the destructive power of fire or explosives, so many corpses left on display as grim deterrent to those who might commit the same crimes.

Adi moaned softly as he crossed the last sheltered alley between their location and the overhang of a half-collapsed auditorium near the edge of the abandoned campus. "We're at the university," Qui-Gon told her, softly. "Hold on."

He received no answer, so he pressed onward, jogging across the open space a moment after the last search skiff had buzzed overhead, patrol lights blazing. The Force was awash with danger, but none of it immediate. Apsolis was alive with fearful eyes – those who sought him and his companions, and those who watched the hunt in cowed and silent trepidation.

The front doors were jammed shut, but they yielded to the Force.

His footfalls echoed in the empty corridors, smashed holo-boards lining the halls, a textured coating of dust smeared over an inlaid floor. One or two classroom doors had been battered open, revealing gutted chambers beyond, furnishings torn apart and piled in their centers, the powdery detritus of smashed holobooks leaving a glittering fairy-land carpet upon their smooth floors. Only the light filtering in from outside touched the edges of desks and broken chairs, cast his own shadow like a long finger across the stretch of corridor ahead. The doors slid shut behind him, a quiet afterthought.

The Jedi master waited, alert to the subtlest stirring in the Force. Another sentient approached, one whose mind was keen with suspicion and treachery, but who did not exude malice - only a defensive tension tantamount to aggression. Heavy shuffling steps approached in the dark, and then a glow-torch cast a querulous beam of light along the hall, a thin searchlight flickering up, down, and then resting on the tall man and his sagging burden with a shocked hesitance.

Blinded by the bright glare, Qui-Gon could only address the vague shadow occupying the corridor ahead. "Who is there?"

A rasping snort. "You're the trespasser, stranger. You answer first." The click and whir of a blaster's charge cell warming up followed this pronouncement.

"I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, ambassador from the Galactic Republic, here at the behest of Master Adi Gallia."

The bright torch beam was obligingly lowered. "Jedi, eh? Who's that with you?"

Blinking purple after-images out of his vision, Qui-Gon peered at the burly figure standing at the passage's far end. A stocky, rather dwarf-statured Besalisk peered back, reptilian eyes slitted assessingly, throat sack ominously swelling, lower pair of arms covering him with a matched pair of highly illegal disruptor charge hand-blasters while the upper pair remained crossed over a broad chest. The being was clad in a faded jumpsuit, one that may have been blue at some point in the distant reaches of history.

"I have Master Gallia with me," the tall man replied. "She has been held prisoner by the New Absolutes for some time. She is in need of medical care and told me friends are to be found here."

The besalisk holstered his weapons and stumped forward. At closer range, Qui-Gon noted the humped back and dragging gait - tell tale signs of a hereditary deformation. A large ring of pass-keys hung at the creature's belt, clacking together as he ambled along at an odd, rolling gait.

"Friends of who, eh?"

"Of hers, I should imagine," the Jedi master answered, carefully. "She especially recommended the intelligence and bravery of the janitor here."

Throat sack ballooning with pleasure, the caretaker's posture relaxed minutely. But new suspicion quickly took the place of general caution. "Eh. How do I know you aren't some damned infiltrator? Probably tortured her till she coughed up some facts. And where's the small Jedi? The young, pretty one? She dead?"

Qui-Gon allowed the Force to convey his sincerity. "Master Gallia's Padawan has gone with my own apprentice to warn the hill people of the impending threat to their lives. And the Absolutes know of neither your location nor your names. No Jedi would betray innocents, even to save herself. I promise you."

A pair of gimlet eyes blinked once or twice, as the janitor drew an enormous hand over his ridge-scored face. "Hmmm." He squinted at Adi's unconscious form and then rumbled deep in his throat. "Fine. Come this way. Double cross us and I'll kill you myself, with my four bare hands, Jedi or not."

"You have a medic here?"

The reptilian turned his back and started retreating along the corridor, signaling Qui-Gon to follow. "Do we got a medic? We got a lot of people and things here in the 'Combs. Just you wait and see, Jedi."

Hoisting Adi a bit higher on his aching shoulders, Qui-Gon followed his strange escort into the mysterious bowels of the derelict building, the sound of klaxons outside fading to a dull memory as they penetrated deep into a forgotten and unruly realm beneath Apsolis' despotically ordered surface.

* * *

The land sloped upward, rising toward the feet of the mountains in one long swath of boulder-strewn glacial plain. Enormous white stones jutted from the earth, massive soft-edged sculptures dotting the endless expanse. A sparse blanket of hardy grasses was scattered over the earth like a callow youth's first beard.

Obi-Wan swerved and wound his way among the obstacles, threading steadily upward as the sun rose high overhead, warming the air that rushed past their faces in a never-ending stream. All conversation had long since ceased, Siri's grasp on him gradually but inevitably loosening, growing slack and then – just as he rounded the shadowed side of a towering white boulder - it slipped altogether.

He leapt free of the swoop, sending it skidding over the open plain, propelling himself backward as she slid off the seat behind him. He seized her, wrapping his own limbs protectively about her limp body in mid-air, hit the hard soil with a loud grunt of pain, and rolled to a stop beneath the looming rock's cool side. Siri sprawled listlessly in his arms.

"Siri. Siri- are you all right?"

She stirred groggily, shoving him away, her skin pallid and sweat streaked, hair clinging to her damp face in places. He pushed the obscuring strands away.

"…let go. Fine," she muttered, heaving in great lungfuls of air. "Just… fainted."

The swoop slowed to a standstill hundreds of meters away, repulsors keeping it airborne, the empty landscape having spared it from devastating collision. Obi-Wan scanned the bright horizons for any sign of pursuit, or other life, but they were utterly alone. "You need to rest," he decided, propping her up against the side of the rock. She sat there, color slowly returning to her complexion, eyes closed as she drew in deep centering breaths. He crouched before her, fingers of one hand spread on her knee.

"I'm fine," Siri insisted. "…Don't _stare_ at me, for Force's sake."

"I'll… go get the bike. Stay here," he added, needlessly, pushing to his feet and tramping across the cold plain to fetch the hovering vehicle. His muscles were cramped from so many hours spent hunched behind the swoop's controls. He lengthened his stride, enjoying the exertion, the warmth of the sun on his skin. The world was strangely silent out here – not even a furry springer poked its head from a ground-hole to peer curiously at the trespasser upon the land.

He walked the gravbike back to the boulder's shelter, musing on their predicament. Delay was dangerous for all involved; soon enough search parties would be sent after them, and the message they carried to the unsuspecting Civilized could not be delivered too speedily. But Siri was clearly much weaker than she would admit, her reserves of strength depleted. His pace slowed as his mind wandered back into dark corridors of speculation. He had no illusions about the Absolutes' prison, and the depredations wrought upon those held within its cruel walls. _Torture_ was not foreign to his experience, young as he might be – he had no doubt that such had been the fate of both Jedi women. But his imagination balked at the details, his mind bucking away reflexively each time he sought to theorize.

And all too soon, he was back at the place he had left Siri, standing helplessly beside the swoop while she lay curled on one side, face hidden in a crook of her arm, shoulders spasmodically heaving.

What was he to _do?_ Rejected already a dozen times since he had discovered her, he had little hope of reaching her now. Jedi training did not include any pointers on succoring a distraught woman, particularly one displaying unbecoming emotion, especially when that woman was Siri Tachi, who was forged of unbreakable Vespari steel like the knife hidden in his boot. He shifted his weight a few times, fingers of one hand drumming nervously against his saber's hilt, gut twisting with an unfamiliar pang of distress.

Force, why was _he _upset? The realization provoked a second surge of alarm. He could _not_ lose his head. A Jedi remained calm, anchored immovably in the Force.

Siri softly wept, her back still resolutely turned to him.

Master Qui-Gon, adept of the Living Force and his current apprentice's reference point for every virtue, would know exactly what to do. In fact, the great Jedi master had handled similar crises on more than one occasion – as the Padawan vibrantly recalled, with a twinge of shame. Obi-Wan knelt beside Siri, banishing his own tension on a long exhalation. He would approach this in just the same manner his master would deal with a parallel situation.

"Siri," he addressed her firmly. "That's enough. We have a duty to fulfill. You must focus on the present moment, and the task at hand. We _must_ make it to the nearest Civilized settlement. Too much is at stake for us to delay."

She rolled over then, galvanized into a cold fury. One hand dashed moisture from her cheeks. A pair of sapphire eyes pierced straight through him. "Are you_ trying to be masterly _with me, Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

"I –"

Siri rolled upright with a deadly fluidity, the banked power of a trained athlete and warrior, and thrust a cautionary finger at his face. "Nobody requested your advice, Obi-Wan! Nobody asked for your help!"

He choked back a snarl of outrage, suddenly at the end of his patience. "_You_ did!" he retorted, hotly. "I _felt_ it in the Force! You called for me and I came and I'm sorry the service wasn't up to your exacting standards, Padawan _Tachi!"_

She was on her feet the next instant, pale and shaking though she might be. "If I had my saber, Kenobi, you'd be _feeling_ my exacting standards right across your arrogant, presumptuous, high-handed arse!"

"I doubt it," he growled, half-aching for an opportunity to expose her fallacy, to prove her glaring error, to clash together at arm's-width, hand's-width, breath's-width, blades shrieking in discordant joy as they _tangled-_

"Well?" Siri snapped, one brow arching upward. "I thought there was need of haste. I'm not waiting for you all day." She stormed away toward the gravbike, golden hair tossing pertly over one shoulder, the glorious afternoon sun falling full upon her as she crossed from shadow into brilliant light.

There were rents in her clothing, the gritty rust-colored stain of blood upon her trouser legs. His heart leapt into his throat, striking him dumb.

"Well?" Siri demanded, stiffly mounting the bike and waving him onto the bench behind her. Mutely, he obeyed, wrestling his own turbulent feelings under tenuous control. "Siri-"

She slewed round, bringing their faces so close that a warmth of mingled breath fluttered vexedly between them. "You're a better diplomat when you keep your mouth shut," she whispered, bright warning clear in her sparkling eyes. Her lower lip trembled, and she turned round again, kicking the swoop into motion with a violence suggestive of acute rage.

Obi-Wan held on for dear life, gritting his teeth as she recklessly piloted them over the remainder of the glacial plains and up into the forbidding ramparts of the foothills.


	13. Chapter 13

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

At the base of the hills, a trickling streamlet pooled among the tumbled stone. A few hardy trees crouched over the shallow basin like a witches' coven, gnarled faces reflected in the green-gold depths, prickling leaves occasionally drifting down to float on the surface of the scrying glass.

The Force eddied slowly, stirring to vibrancy only when the quiet was shattered by the whining drives of an old swoop.

Siri Tachi brought them to a skidding halt, nearly upsetting the bike in the process.

"You have to ease back on the compensator before you cut the throttle," Obi-Wan grumbled, shoving the ponderous object upright before it tipped over entirely. They half-fell, half-scrambled off the bench and managed to switch the repulsors to standby without dropping the heavy chassis.

"I _know_ how to ride it," his companion snapped back at him, pushing her Padawan braid behind one ear and collapsing gratefully at the water's edge. Her boots came off, revealing a pair of shapely white feet, and then she scooped up a handful of frigid water , splashing it over her face and neck.

"Don't _drink_ it without checking for parasi-"

"I'm not _stupid, _Kenobi," she snarled. "Stop hovering and make yourself useful. See if you can raise a com-signal out here."

His brows came together. Who did she think she was, the Grand Master of the entire star-forsaken Order? "I'll check for _parasites_ first," he declared, truculently, retrieving the requisite capsule from his belt pouch and crumbling it into the pool. The white powder dissolved, and disappeared. No tell-tale reaction occurred after a count of twenty, so he judged that it was safe enough to-

He swiftly turned his back, blushing, as Siri stripped off her tunics and tossed them aside with a curt gesture and a guttural sound of revulsion, her face taut with unreadable emotion.

"I _said_ go find a com-signal," she told him, voice raised in clear challenge. "I'm cleaning up, whether you stay here or not."

Defeated, he left the shelter of the twisted trees and climbed up the piled mass of boulders, until he thought perhaps his link might pick up an open channel. It took a few minutes' fiddling with the transceiver, but eventually his device found a primitive unsecure broadband originating to the northwest. It was too weak for a proper sync, but at least he now knew the rough vector in which the nearest Civilized settlement must lie. Finished with his task, he hesitated upon the summit of rough-hewn stones, wondering apprehensively whether Siri was done with _hers._

Unbidden, his imagination flashed back to that glimpse of white skin curving delicately over a smooth collarbone, the fluttering hollow of a pale throat, the twin swells of soft flesh not entirely obscured by –

He exhaled and abruptly folded himself into meditation posture, training his focus on other things. Siri might need a few more minutes. His pulse settled back to its wonted rhythm, the strange prickling across the skin of his belly subsided. _The Force. The Force. There is only the Force._ He squinted out over the wide plain they had just crossed, eyes seeking among the scattered white monuments for sign of droids or sentient hunters. But only the late afternoon sun played among the pallid rocks, casting long shadows back toward Apsolis, visible as a tiny crescent of orange on the far horizon. He reached out, through the boundless plenum, seeking to touch Qui-Gon across the vast distance separating them

_Master._

A brush of reassurance across his mind, a vague sense of mandate. He could almost hear the time-worn command. _Stay focused on your task. Be mindful of distractions._

Yes, well. Obi-Wan stood, drawing in a deep centering breath. That was _complicated_ when the distraction in question had an intractable mind of its own, and an infernally sharp tongue to boot. But a Jedi did not surrender in the face of adversity. He leapt and skidded down the uneven slope, ducking beneath an overhanging branch as he returned to the hidden pool.

Siri had finished her ablutions, and was busily tinkering with the grav-bike's power cell. "This won't get us much farther," she informed him, tersely. "Did you find any sign of a settlement?"

"To the northwest," he replied, pointing. "But I've no idea how far. We could follow the water to its source. That's the likeliest place to find people."

She slammed the access hatch closed and pushed her dangling braid back into place behind her ear. "Drink up," she advised. "And I don't suppose you've got any rations?"

Ruefully, he tossed her a dry pellet. "Gourmet survival cuisine. From the Core."

"Yum." Siri sat down beside him as he stretched out, plunging both arms into the cold pool, scooping up a double handful to drink. The water was sharp, and mineral laden, and he gulped it down eagerly, slaking a thirst he had not noticed until this moment.. He heard Siri cough a bit as she choked down half the compressed nutrient pellet. A whispering breeze ruffled the pool's surface, promise of a cold night to come.

He sat up. "We should hurry – I don't think it would be wise to stay out here past sunset, if we can avoid it."

Siri nodded, determination shining in her eyes. "Let's go. You can pilot – since it's a choice between letting you show off or mouth off."

"Fine." He summoned the ignition cylinder into his own hand, plucking it from her pocket with a deft application of the Force. He bit back a sarcastic retort, with a pang of regret that Qui-Gon was not here to witness his heroic self-restraint, and slung a leg over the swoop's saddle, waiting as she limped her way over to the vehicle and gingerly climbed into place behind him.

The tranquil pool shuddered slightly in the wake of their departure, and then returned to its timeless placidity.

* * *

The doctor was a grizzled man, nearly Qui-Gon's own impressive height, one stooped with age or worry, a pair of ocular enhancers now thrust up into his leonine mane of white and fading red. Two bright eyes peered at the Jedi master beneath jutting brows. "I'll be blunt. She should be dead – but she isn't. I'll credit that to some Jedi thing."

The Jedi master nodded, jaw tightening. Across the sparse chamber into which the dwarf besalisk had issued them several hours ago, Adi lay deathly still on a simple medical couch, a piece of equipment clearly salvaged from some derelict facility above ground. He had been sequestered here with her, and the lanky medic, while the resistance movement's leadership held council – presumably to decide whether to trust him or not.

"She is strong in the Force."

Coori – as the eccentric professional had been introduced – cast a glance at the patient over the patched and faded shoulder of his long healer's tunic. "You people astound me."

"Can you help her?"

The doctor hooked an ankle through the supports of an antique rolling stool and squatted upon its cracking plastoid seat. "Well. There are at least two toxins in her bloodstream which I have never seen before. That means experimental stuff – torture, interrogation, what have you. Then there's nerve damage – I'd say electro-pulsors used without any regard for preserving life. I don't have the equipment I would need to make a more specific diagnosis, nor to treat her condition properly, though I've done what I can to help."

Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest. "I see."

Coori sighed, gazing up sympathetically. "She is a charming woman, I must say," he sighed. "One of the loveliest beings I have ever met."

The Jedi master raised a brow, sensing more than a general or professional interest on the forlorn medic's part. Such … sentiments… were not unheard of, certainly. Jedi, shining in the Force, were often perceived as extraordinarily beautiful or vivacious by members of the same or similar species who lacked well-honed Force abilities. He, Qui-Gon, had been the object of such misplaced infatuationon on more than one occasion; and of late, his young Padawan had been sparking off a predictable number of such attractions himself - though the boy's intense absorption in duty had kept him obliviosu to the greater part of his swooning admirers. Life exuded palpably from those sworn to its sacred service, and invited a natural response.

"She came to ensure a peaceful transition," Coori went on. "A lost cause, from the start. Ewane was poisoned five years ago – his slow decline due to Yoor-Tabbel syndrome was quite fake, I assure you. This coup has been in the planning for almost a decade."

"And how long has the resistance movement occupied these catacombs?" Qui-Gon inquired.

The medic shrugged. "Since the first Educational Reform, when the university was burned to the ground. Some Civilized, some Workers, some off-worlders who got stuck when the emigration strictures went into effect – like Moto, the janitor. Master Gallia contacted us just after Eline's inauguration – she saw through the whole farce. A remarkable woman."

"Yes." Qui-Gon stirred impatiently. "Her sacrifice must not be in vain. Perhaps you can convince your colleagues to extend to me the same trust they afforded her? Time is short- the Absolutes are planning a genocidal attack on those dwelling outside the cities."

Coori's face blanched. "I have family among the hill people."

"Then you would do well to plead my cause." The Jedi master gestured toward the outer door. "I will stay with Master Gallia – we have our own means of promoting healing."

The medic hesitated visibly, a flutter of envy twisting in the Force as the man's eyes rested softly on Adi's unconscious form. But professional detachment won out in the end. "Yes, yes, of course. You are quite right… I shall speak to Montaag myself."

He excused himself, his long shanks carrying him over the threshold and up the subterranean corridor at a swift, jerking gait. Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, taking up position beside his fellow Jedi. He grasped Adi's limp hands in his own much larger ones, calling upon the healing energy of the Living Force, channeling its restorative power through his own body into hers, praying that the infusion of borrowed strength would be sufficient.

* * *

By nightfall, the two Padawans had crawled halfway up the steep incline, doggedly following the meandering course of the river. The jagged terrain and failing power cell rendered the swoop a treacherous conveyance; soon enough they had abandoned it beneath the shelter of a massive overhang and continued the arduous ascent on foot.

Siri was exhausted within an hour, barely able to drag herself forward as they clambered along, threading through underbrush and over ragged chunks of stone, never keeping a steady pace or a straight line.

"We should stop here," Obi-Wan suggested, when they had slowed to a near standstill. The last glimmer of light was dying in the sky overhead. A forlorn cry sounded in the wilds above them – a predator, or a hunting bird. "Conserve our strength."

Siri's shoulders straightened. "I can go further," she insisted. "But if you need to stop, we will." The glint of her eyes was just visible in the dusking light. She blew a loose strand of hair out of her face with a vexed puff of breath.

_What?_ He released his own pique on a long exhalation. "Fine. I need to stop for the night." He retraced his steps, picking his way back to the spot where she stood, swaying on her feet. "I'm about to collapse, and make a fool of myself in front of a fellow Padawan. Master Jinn would never let me hear the end of it if my recalcitrance and pride landed us both in danger."

Siri Tachi took pity upon him, agreeing to halt for the night – compassion for the weaker member of the group taking precedence over her own stubborn desires.

They found a gritty hollow beneath a jutting root-ball, a cave roofed by a tangle of fibrous veins and arteries and scented of damp soil and rotting leaves. As blackness descended over the mountains, all warmth was leached from the air. They huddled and shivered side by side in their dismal retreat. Outside, the water chortled and gurgled along its ordained path, indifferent to their presence. Siri leaned into the concave earthen wall, trembling.

"You're cold," he worried aloud.

"I'm fine."

"Well, then, _I'm_ cold."

She stirred regretfully. "Those hell-spawned barves took my warming crystal. You'll have to suffer in silence, Kenobi."

But he had his own notions. He slipped a hand beneath his tunic's outer layer and fished out the river-stone gifted to him nearly five years ago, the Force-sensitive mineral Qui-Gon had discovered in the River of Light on a star system countless lightyears from this unhappy world. "Maybe you can do something with this instead," he suggested, pressing the smooth stone into her palm, closing his own fingers over hers.

Siri snorted softly, but issued no objection. He felt the Force trickle sluggishly at her behest, sparking feeble embers of heat within the stone. He closed his eyes, sinking into the ethereal currents, and gently, ever so gently, breathed life into the smoldering point of fire, his unvoiced concern igniting its depths to a bright flare. Warmth suffused their limbs, radiating outward from the stone, kindling joyfully on the Force's invisible hearth.

"I'll keep the first watch," Siri mumbled, her voice trailing off to a slurring whisper.

"Of course." He cautiously shifted his arm and drew it about her shoulders as she slumped against him, sleep claiming her even as she volunteered to stand sentinel. Her head rolled forward against his chest, silken hair tickling at his neck, their hands still mutually twined about the river stone. He gently tucked the escaping Padawan braid behind her ear and settled back against the rough curve of the cave wall.

He tended the vestal fire until dawn, shielding them both from the bitter claws of frost and wind, and neglected to wake her for the second watch. The Force seemed to speak in riddling verse out of the burbling river's mouth, out of the muted cadence of their two heartbeats. And he listened, enrapt, as its elusive music eroded the foundations of a cherished certainty.


	14. Chapter 14

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 14**

The deepest basement level – a veritable cavern that had once clearly been the generator core for the entire abandoned university – had been converted to a meeting chamber, tiers of benches rudely constructed of scraps and salvaged materials surrounding a central dais. Qui-Gon Jinn stood at ease before an assembly of hundreds, his grey eyes traveling slowly over the faces of the resistance – old, young, human, exotic, men, women, and – by the look of their motley garb – Worker and Civilized alike, a diverse and independent-minded group only unified by a deep rejection of the madness reigning above.

"Your name again," an white-crowned elder hunched in the lowest tier demanded. Though wizened and half-blind, this man clearly garnered the respect of his comrades; when he spoke, all fell silent.

"Qui-Gon Jinn."

His inquisitor harrumphed. "The same who interfered in our planet's affairs more than two standard decades ago? You have some nerve to return."

"I go where duty calls; it was not by choice but necessity that I came. Master Gallia sent a courier message to our Temple on Coruscant, indicating that the situation here was desperate. We do not ignore the pleas of our own."

Coori the physician spoke up next, standing tall in the highest row. "He has helped Master Gallia – I have witnessed this myself. I think he is to be considered an ally."

Adi, cocooned in a healing trance, was not present to vouch for her colleague's integrity; Qui-Gon shifted restlessly, impatience tightly furled within a lifetime's hard-earned control.

The denizens of the catacomb levels murmured and debated among themselves, until a tall raven-haired man in the center of the assembly stood tall among them, abruptly stilling every tongue. This individual had been pointed out to the Jedi master upon his entrance, though the man had yet to speak. Montaag, the recognized leader of those who dwelt below Apsolis' surface, and the former security chief of the New Absolute regime, had earned the trust of his friends through an act of rank betrayal.

"Let the Jedi speak for himself," Montaag declared. "No man is to be judged by his allegiance. Here is a Jedi who condemned the Civilized to exile; and in Master Gallia we have met a Jedi who would save the same people from destruction. Tell us, Qui-Gon Jinn, do you come to build or destroy?"

The Jedi master was not so easily ensnared. "They are the same thing- as you know," he replied, evenly. "There is seldom growth without pain, or new life without the death of the old."

Montaag's mouth bent in a crooked smile. "True. So tell us, which do you come to champion _this _time: the Absolutes or their enemies? In either case, you are a harbinger of strife."

Qui-Gon bowed. "I come to serve the cause of peace."

Another angry murmur coursed among the auditors. Montaag waited for the swell of whispering resentment to subside. "Some might say that you wage peace as some men wage war. _We_ serve the cause of peace here; on this world, master Jedi, peace means _survival._ We are the preservers, the stewards of sanity. People come to us for refuge, and we grant it. What little learning remains on this planet, we have carefully protected and nurtured. We will not commit to some fool's crusade, for we must survive far into the future, for some distant generation that might someday wish to reclaim its heritage." The tall man sat again, heavily. "I am sorry; you may stay here, with our blessing. But when Master Gallia has recovered, you should leave Apsolon. Your ambition is doomed. Freedom here has already been lost."

"You will do nothing to succor those beyond the city's bounds? The Absolutes are planning a genocidal attack on the hill people. They may have already launched the first phase of the assault."

Montaag's rough-hewn features hardened. "There is nothing we can do to stop such an atrocity, without risking all that we have established. The future outweighs even their present distress."

Qui-Gon pressed his lips together. "Master Gallia and I have sent our two young apprentices to warn the Civilized of their danger."

His plea was met with a regretful silence, a mute chorus of refusal.

"I see."

His long stride carried him from the chamber in a sweep of indignation, the Force roiling with his disgust. None was foolish enough to arrest him; but Coori the medic hastily rose and pushed his way through the throng, earnestly following after the tall man's retreating footsteps, faded healer's tunic flapping about his knobbly knees.

* * *

When he woke the next morning – grimacing at the realization that his vigil had eventually given way to sleep sometime in the pre-dawn hours – Obi-Wan's entire left side was numb from lack of circulation, and Siri was burning with fever.

And they were no closer to finding the mysterious Civilized, who had taken refuge in these hills so many years ago, tattered clouds driven by the storm-winds of bitter revolution.

Duty first. He gently shook his companion awake. "Siri. We need to keep moving."

Fever-glossed eyes fluttered open and rested upon him, confusion manifesting as a tiny line between delicate white-gold brows. Siri blinked, and then jolted fully awake, pushing him rudely away as she levered herself to a kneeling position, dragging her hands over her face and through her disheveled hair. "Stars… I feel Sithly."

Illness tinged her cheeks with a spreading blush, accented the subtle shadows around her eyes, drummed as a visible pulse in the small of her throat. The Living Force shimmered within her presence, resplendent in battle array, vital defiance glinting on transparent lashes, on wisps of straggling hair. Entrenched, beset by foes, she shone with an entrancing splendor.

He yearned to join the fray. "I could help you," he offered. "I'm not trained, not very well, but Bant has taught me from time to time… healing works better with another person as anchor."

She glared at him, defensive or resentful, or both. "You know, I'm not an incapable bantha-brain, Kenobi. If I need your assistance, I'll ask for it."

That same tired refrain. "Neither am I. And you already did." He slid forward, effectively blocking her exit from their earthy hovel.

Siri balked, gritting her teeth. "And a _fine job_ you did," she snarled. "Out of my way."

He remained immobile, temper smoldering. "I should think so," he retorted, "You weren't making much progress on your own."

The spots of color in her cheeks deepened to an infuriated crimson. "What do you want me to _do,_ Kenobi? Weep with gratitude and swoon into your arms? Fawn all over you and tell you what a hero you are for opening a kriffing cell door? _Pay you back?"_ Actinic rage flashed in the Force. "Get _out of my way_ or I will _make _you."

An avalanche of wounded feelings toppled over the high ridge of his composure. "I'm trying to help you, Siri Tachi!"

"You can't help me," she spat back, voice breaking. She lunged forward, pushing past him with a desperate burst of strength.

Before thought could intervene, he seized her about the waist, one hand closing around her wrist, thwarting her angry retreat. "What's the _matter_ with you?" he demanded, grunting as she struggled like a Pelusian viper in his grip, her free elbow connecting painfully with his lower ribs. The blow wracked through his frame, but his grip tightened and shifted, skill matched against skill, strength against strength, desperate _need_ flaring between them in wild opposition.

Panic leapt like spurting magma in the Force, an eruption of dread and deep instinctual fury that blinded him further. Siri screamed at him, writhing adder-like in his wrestling hold, one booted foot slamming into his thigh perilously close to its intended target.

"Stop it!" he rasped out, her frenzy translating into a molten fear in his own bowels, a hammering burst of cold beneath his ribs. "Siri, stop!"

She lost her footing and slipped, bringing him down atop her, limbs splayed and tangled together in a pitched contest. Siri went rigid beneath his weight, the tumultuous Force suddenly contracted in a paroxysm of raw and bleeding pain. He gasped, choking on shared memory as mental shields imploded, as vision bled into reality and nightmare into fact. He recoiled; Siri seized his nerftail in one hand, jerked him sideways, and planted a knee in his stomach, sending him rolling away in a knot of stunned and breathless disbelief.

"You _barve!"_ she sobbed, chest heaving. "_Go away!"_

Wheezing, he obeyed, retreating in shock to the bank of the streamlet, and then further away, stumbling in a daze over boulders and slimy roots, until his steps brought him to a sun-drenched curve of mud and stone, a bend in the water's sinuous path. He sank to his knees upon the damp soil, ribs and thigh and belly throbbing in unison, the bruising marks of Siri's disdain playing counterpoint to the horrified spasming of his diaphragm.

Vague suspicion, formless speculation solidified into agonized certainty. He had _seen_ it. _Felt_ it. Plunged uninvited, deep into the howling heart of Siri's own memories, into a desecrated sanctuary. His throat tightened.

Oh Force! No… Force no! Help me, Obi-Wan!

Had he been there…had he… his knuckles clenched to white as he dug fists into the rotting leaves beneath him. Darkness fringed his vision, licked at the margins of sanity. How _dare_ they - ! He gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut against the torrential upsurge of wrath.

No emotion- no passion –

Siri. Violated.

A black flood smashed through his barriers, drowning his control beneath an abysmal tide of fury. Destruction raged unchecked in his veins, dark imagination obliterating all thought but that of retribution. He floundered, spun without anchor or compass, choked on the seething ocean of rage –

Choked on his own tears, and doubled over, his face pressed into the muddy riverbank as the filthy torrent poured through him, wrung out of his breath and bone as he screamed his bitter regret, his _non-acceptance_, into the treacherous, cruel Force that had condemned his to the role of helpless bystander.

After a while, he was left empty, and the Light brushed timidly against his borders again, trickling back in through the cracks and chinks in his fractured spirit. He groaned softly, and pushed upright, spine crawling with new and shuddering awareness of the Dark side's _proximity_ to the Light, the razor's edge between compassion and the depravity.

_There is no emotion. There is peace. There is no passion. There is serenity._ Swallowing , he closed his eyes and crept his way back toward balance, prying his psychic grip on the devastating revelation loose, one tendril of outrage at a time, until he had unmoored himself from it, set it to drift over his inner horizon into the Force into that same aching plenitude to which he had consigned so many other nightmares. _Zan Arbor's droid, probing and prodding and molesting him… the Syndicat mind-wipe whispering in his inmost soul, throbbing behind his temples… Soll Carthag's hellish eyes, leering over him…. Xanatos' cruel laughter ringing in his ears as he writhed upon a hard stone floor… Bruck Chun's funeral pyre, Miso Asaro's funeral pyre, the empty funeral pyre hungrily awaiting Tahl Uvain… _

Release. Inhale.

Every whiplash scar of fate, every jagged rent in his innocence a place where Light could knit pain into strength, into serenity, into wisdom. Exhale.

After a measureless span of breaths, he became aware of another's presence. His head jerked round, shame prickling at his skin. "Siri."

She stood on the opposite side of the quiet stream, watching him with a troubled expression, fingers slowly twisting in her ragged tunic's hem. "I – I'm sorry," she said. "I hurt you – I behaved reprehensibly. Please accept my apology."

The river softly wept its way downhill, a glittering trench separating them.

"There is nothing to forgive," he answered stiffly, rubbing at his side, meeting her gaze and then letting his eyes flit away, over the mottled green of their surroundings.

Siri shifted, struggling to find words. "Did you… did you see…?"

He watched the stream course over its rough bed, shaping jagged stones to its will, the anvil slowly flattened by a yielding hammer. "Yes."

She looked away, past him to the summit beyond. "Oh."

"Siri – "

"We have a duty," she interrupted. "A mission to complete. That's all that matters."

He glanced up at her, steeling his own heart even as she grimly donned her own armor. "I know."

"It's between me and the Force, Obi-Wan. I am a Jedi."

What was he to say to that? He thrust his denial down deep, back into oblivion. There was no self – not for either of them. There was only duty.

"Siri, I –"

"No." Her eyes glinted, battle-ready. "We won't speak of it ever again. It is in the past, and no longer exists. You must forget it ever happened. Promise me."

He stood, the expected pledge of honor sticking in his throat.

"_Promise_, Obi-Wan."

Iron will brutally suppressing the rebellion fomenting in his heart, he nodded.

Siri's pale countenance hardened with stoic determination. Her chin lifted. "Good. We should –"

"Down!" His 'saber leapt howling from its hilt before the word had left his throat; Siri rolled away as a blaster bolt zinged past her shoulder; and the hunter-killer droid whirred murderously into the clearing, weapons system flashing in cold anticipation.

They had been found.


	15. Chapter 15

**Lineage VII**

* * *

Chapter 15

Bristling with malice, the metallic sphere careened toward the stranded Padawans, pummeling them with bright and flaring fire. Siri, unarmed, pressed in close to Obi-Wan, the single blue 'saber blade carving a defensive shield about them both as their foe flitted in a wide circle, changing altitude and speed in random sequence, never ceasing its high-energy attack pattern.

Bolts pinged and spattered against the plasma blade, sending up a cacophonous racket that flushed birds and reptiles from hiding places, set the branches overhead into a screaming panic as a horde of small animals fled the scene.

"Blast it," Obi-Wan grunted, tracking the droid without really looking, the Force and long habit keeping his motions one step ahead of the blasts, his weapon's angle anticipating each successive assault, body and 'saber melded into one seamless dance of light and speed. Siri matched his movements, flowing through the defensive rhythm effortlessly, instincts likewise honed by lifelong training. They pivoted, turned, ducked, reversed, lunged and pivoted again, her back pressed to his, every movement mirrored perfectly, even their breaths yoked by the Force's gentle power.

"It only has lateral cannon," she barked at her companion. "Split up."

They whirled to one side, locked together in a tight evasive spin, as a double blast rocketed past Obi-Wan's left side.

"Not a good idea," he objected, blade flashing wildly, catching the next three shots square. One rebounded straight into the droid but died on its shimmering protective shield. "You're unarmed." He spun his saber in a double helix, smashing four more shots away in all directions, the edge of the blue blade screaming by hot and furious, just shy of Siri's shoulder.

"Stars' end, Kenobi!" she shouted. " _Cut_ the fancy –"

They hit the sodden ground together and rolled, somersaulting to their feet a meter apart. The droid reversed direction and gathered itself for another strafing run.

Obi-Wan saw his chance. He tossed his saber's hilt to his companion and leapt straight up, springing off a gnarled trunk and onto a mossy branch, and then to the next, as their foe bore down on the remaining target in a blaze of red light. Siri's style was less elaborate; fast, tight, accurate, she withstood the onslaught expertly, weaving sapphire armor about her body with the howling blue blade.

The droid's shielding deflected every blast, the rounded carapace impervious behind its subtle energy field. Even a 'saber's arc plasma blade might not penetrate the orb of its defenses. Obi-Wan leapt across a wide gap, springing onto another bending branch, one hand reaching into his boot for the Vespari knife. The battle below shifted, reversed, and then came round again beneath him…

…and he dropped like a raptor falling out of the sky, the sudden impact overwhelming the killer's repulsors, smashing it to the earth. The blade slammed down, simple kinetic impetus penetrating straight through the shields, piercing the main dome. Cannon fire spewed in all directions as he wrestled the deadly automaton down, pushing the tiny knife further into the thing's processors with a savage determination, his whole weight behind the thrust.

A high, ominous whine shrilled in a painfully rising crescendo.

"Jump, you chosski!" Siri hollered.

The explosion still tumbled him head over heels in midair, but he disguised the fact with a shoulder roll, landing in a half-controlled skid at her feet, bits of metal and spiraling tails of fire raining down like confetti around them.

The blue blade snapped back into its hilt, leaving them in a stunned silence.

"That was dramatic," Siri decided. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Grimly, he sheathed the Vespari knife. "That was completely uncivilized," he muttered.

She cocked her head to one side, assessing. "If it's any consolation, you're beginning to look the part."

He glanced down ruefully at his soiled and grimy trousers, and ran a hand over his alarmingly bristled chin. Stars' end… he _was. _ How piquant.

Siri's mouth perked upward at the corners, sardonic. "Don't fret. I won't tell Master Jinn."

He quirked a sarcastic smile in return, and crouched to examine the mangled corpse of the hunter-seeker, brows contracting. "This is a short range transmitter array," he informed his fellow Padawan. "Reinforcements aren't far behind."

Siri scowled thunderously down the mountainside, then up the jagged slopes above. She thrust his saber hilt back at him. "Here."

His hand opened to receive it, then dropped away. "No. Keep it for now."

"What?" Blue eyes widened in shock, in uneasy comprehension. "I can't… I don't need… I can't take your '_saber."_ His life. His honor.

He stared her down, while the wrecked droid sent up a thin column of twisting smoke into the cold skies. Siri Tachi worried at her lower lip, the gleaming hilt still held in one hand, suspended between them.

"Keep it," he repeated. "After all, we only have one weapon between us. It only stands to reason that should be in the hands of the superior fighter."

She blinked in surprise, disarmed. "Oh." Hesitantly, she clipped the 'saber at her own side. "Well, since you put it that way. Good point."

He risked another miniscule smile, one returned with the barest nod of acknowledgment, of uncomfortable gratitude.

"Let's move." Siri jogged away up the slope, not waiting for him, one hand curtly tugging her loose knot of golden hair back into place.

"Are you sure you can-"

A single burning look cast over one shoulder brought him up short.

"…find the way?" he amended, hastily.

"Of course I can." Siri Tachi snorted, and led onward with purposeful stride.

* * *

Upon his return, Adi stirred and surfaced from her restorative trance, the Living Force still softly swaddling her presence as she accepted Qui-Gon's proferred hand and slowly sat upright. Her luminous eyes made a single curious circuit about the small subterranean chamber, and then rested on her fellow Jedi master.

"Where is my Padawan?" she demanded, bluntly.

"I sent her with Obi-Wan, to warn the Civilized of the impending attack. They are capable."

A shadow crossed Adi's face and then dissolved, released into the Force. "I regret that we had no time to speak; the Absolutes are without mercy or conscience. They …abused… her before my very eyes, hoping to break my resolve – and then dragged her away again, leaving us both to suffer the consequences alone – she without comfort or counsel."

The tall man stood, exhaling slowly, the echo of Adi's pain resounding in his own mind. "I am sorry." There was no other comfort to offer; they both knew to what extremity of sacrifice duty might lead their steps – to the very brink of an abyss where even the most stalwart among them might fall, the dark and precarious edge of madness.

Adi Gallia nodded, accepting his pallid condolences. "They wanted not only the names and location of the people here," she continued, expression hardening, "but also coordinates for the nearest Jedi way-stations and our emergency transmission protocols."

Qui-Gon scowled. "None but a member of the Order would even know of such things' existence."

The Tholothian held his gaze. "The New Absolutes are a mere façade. This world is under the patronage of some other power.. one that knows the Order intimately, and was well prepared for our arrival. Siri and I were marked and pursued since the moment we landed; and our captors were well-prepared to subdue Force-sensitives."

The perturbing implications of this fact hung unspoken between them.

"The resistance here within Apsolon is not aggressive; I have just spoken with their leadership council, and they have refused to lend support to our cause. They look only to a distant future and their own present safety."

Adi sighed. "They are obstinate and foolish – entrenched reactionaries, fixated upon their ideals more than present compassion, but the only hope of reconstruction this world has." She found her feet, fingers brushing regretfully against her hip, where her 'saber was conspicuous by its absence. "I fear we are out-powered here. Without local assistance, there is no hope of uprooting the present corrupt regime – nor is such action within the limits of our mandate…. Even if such has been done before."

The implied rebuke did not escape the notice of its intended subject, but the tall man ignored the barb and pressed onward. "We must still render aid to the Civilized if at possible; and to that end, we must first try to reestablish contact with the Padawans."

A single terse nod conveyed Adi's assent. "And we _must_ find the root of the evil here; if we cannot expunge it, we must at least give it a name. There is much at stake, both here and - I fear - on other worlds."

It was true; if the New Absolutes were but a cog in some vast machination operating beyond the bounds of this system, one inexorably waxing in strength and influence, some cancerous decay festering in the Republic's heart, the task of discovering its origin and cause took priority over all else - even the protection of the oppressed on Apsolis. Qui-Gon folded his arms, considering the matter gravely. "We have few real allies here," he pointed out.

"…But few are better than none," a third voice chimed in. Coori the medic appeared, fidgeting visibly as he sidled around the corner, hands clasped before him beseechingly. "If you will accept what humble aid I have to offer."

Adi made him a formal bow. "I owe you my personal thanks already," she said, simply. "You have helped me in a time of need."

The healer flushed with disproportionate pleasure. "It was my honor…. now please, tell me how I may be of use."

* * *

"… and that sarlaac bush – do you remember that?' Siri asked, as they labored their way uphill at an increasingly steep angle, leaving the forest behind and picking their way among uneven clefts and rough promontories. The air burned cold in their lungs, slowing their pace yet further. Siri pressed forward, back bent and boots dragging, but chin held high.

"I try not to," Obi-Wan quipped. "Do you remember that day Master Pertha smuggled a poisonous _shantal_ into the small arboretum and conveniently forgot to mention it to the grounds-keeping staff?"

Siri's shoulders quaked with fond recollection. "Speaking of Master Pertha, is it _true_ that you hijacked his transport at the end of that training exercise on Tanaab?"

He raised both brows, neutrally. "It's possible."

"You are _such_ an arrogant gundark, Kenobi."

"At least _I_ never stooped to whacking master Bondara across the shins with a quarterstaff because I was in a snit."

"I was _three_ years old at the time," Siri protested, halting in the shadow of a jutting stone slab to catch her breath. Her eyelids dropped shut. "…I'm sorry… just a moment." She slid down, leaning her back against the cool face of the rock.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth and then thought better of it. He held his tongue, watching the chill breeze lift the loose strands of gold about her face, flutter at her thin tunics' hems. A short leap brought him to the top of the huge boulder, where he was afforded a good view of the slopes beneath them. He could see no sign of pursuit – but the Force warped uneasily with approaching danger, its rippling warning a constant spur to their sides.

A second warning – a more delicate disturbance, one nearly obscured beneath the persistent subliminal thrum of the first – made itself felt. He peered upward, shielding his eyes with one hand against the bright glare of light on rock, and in the higher reaches, snow. His searching gaze wound among the labyrinth of stones and gullies, gnarled bush and trailing groundcover, dead timber, dripping rivulets.

And then he spotted them.

"Siri." His elegant slide down the rock face brought him back to her resting place in a shower of gravel and dust. "The hill people are headed this way. We need to intercept them before another seeker droid does."

She was on her feet in the next instant, though still pale and feverish. She did not object when he seized her hand in his and pulled her up the incline, threading a path toward the band of scouts he had seen making their way down the mountain's face. Their boots crunched on gritty shale, and then on occasional pockets of unthawed frost. The air chilled to a knifing cold, numbing their skin and coaxing breath into melting white clouds.

He stopped in a small gap between two massive uplifts of glacial rock, a place where the biting wind was contained behind solid ramparts. Siri halted beside him, cheeks rouged with illness and cold, her free hand clenched hard about the saber's hilt at her side, as though drawing strength from the crystal embedded in its heart.

"Halt!" a baritone voice commanded, extolling them to do what they already had.

The two young Jedi stood straight, warily observing the appearance of one, and then two more, and then another half dozen strangers, hard-faced men with untrimmed beards and hair, bedecked in worn and tattered garments – mere rags, in some cases- which yet appeared to have once been expensive cloth, scraps of clothing popular among Core and Mid Rim upper castes in decades past. They bore antique long-barreled blaster rifles, but also spears and short hunting knives. One even had a primitive implement for casting arrows, a crude thing crafted of wood and sinew.

They did not _look_ particularly civilized.

"Who are _you_?" the speaker demanded, approaching the Padawans at a swaggering gait. His beard was streaked heavily with gray; his features lined with care and premature age. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Emissaries from the thrice-damned city?"

"We are Jedi, from the Galactic Republic, come to warn your people – all those who live in exile here among the mountains – of a plot to destroy you."

The words brought the ragged band closer, the magnetism of doomsday prophesy drawing them in. A murmur passed among them, dubious syllables bandied about in the freezing air.

"You appear far too young to be any such thing," one of the eldest remarked.

"We are apprentices," Siri told him, standing proud. "Our masters are in the city now. I was captive there myself until yesterday – you must heed our warning. You are in great danger."

"Apprentices?" the shrewd elder continued, his fluting voice rising in disdain. "We are not ones to grovel before _Jedi._ Who are these revered masters of yours, hm? Anyone whose name we might recognize?"

Obi-Wan nudged Siri's side, a trickle of warning sounding in the depths of his instinct, but she ignored him. "I am Padawan learner to Master Adi Gallia, of Coruscant. I accompanied her on a mission to oversee the transition of power to the newly elected leadership. We discovered great corruption and tyranny in Apsolis when we arrived. The New Absolutes intend a murderous purge, and we are pledged to protect you."

"Pretty words," the leader of the Civilized grunted. He turned to the other Padawan. "And you? You also have a Jedi master? To whom is your loyalty sworn?"

The Force flared, cautionary. Obi-Wan hesitated for a space of heartbeats. The truth would almost certainly do him no good here… and yet he found he could not disavow it, not even by a simple act of evasion. His spine stiffened. "Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn," he answered, boldly.

"The despicable Jinn is your teacher?" A muscle leapt in the grizzled man's jaw.

"I am _honored_ to call him such." Challenge edged the response.

Siri's head whipped about, her eyes flashing with exasperation.

The Civilized muttered; a few blaster rifles were levered up onto shoulders. Siri's hand strayed close to the 'saber's hilt again.

But the tall man raised a hand, staying his companions' angry movements. "We have heard of both these Jedi. Master Gallia but recently has come to Apsolon, and by all repute is a woman of good intent… Jinn, on the other hand…. that craven akk will not soon be forgotten by us. You," he addressed Siri, "We will hear what you have to say. But your friend here is not welcome."

"We travel together," Siri insisted.

The elderly member of the suspicious group squinted at her. "Then he comes bound as a hostage. We want nothing to do with _Jinn_ or any sycophantic minion of his."

Obi-Wan sucked in a sharp and outraged breath, but Siri leapt into the breach, answering before he could calm himself. "We accept your terms."

"_Thank you,"_ the soon-to-be prisoner hissed in his friend's ear.

She did not make eye contact. "You had to stick your foot in it," she growled back, not lifting a finger to help as the Civilized seized and roughly bound his hands behind his back, jabbing a blaster barrel between his shoulder blades as they tramped behind their new acquaintances, up the rugged hillside amid a forlorn scattering of trampled, hard-packed snow.


	16. Chapter 16

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 16**

Obi-Wan shifted his weight in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position, and stared back at the curious youngling who stood gazing up at him as though he were a modernist sculpture on display at some premier Coruscanti art gallery. The small girl sucked her thumb, brown eyes studying him intently, cheeks gently pulsing in and out as she worked away at her slobber-coated digit. A trickle of drool cascaded down her soft chin and soaked into the faded ruff of her old smock. Eventually she withdrew the thumb and pointed up at him with a pudgy fist.

"Naughty," she declared, solemnly, and tottered away.

"Blast it," he grumbled, the Force coiling and surging about him, ready at his beck and call. He _could_ simply break the primitive mechanical lock holding his crude restraints in place, subdue the two diffident guards posted to watch him – a bit more challenging without his weapon, but not an intimidating task, considering the sentinels were presently sipping steaming mugs of some hot, fragrant beverage and idly chatting between themselves, with barely a sideways glance in his direction - find Siri, _tell_ the obstreperous Civilized where to shove their opinion of his master, and mind-trick the whole obnoxious lot of them into complying with their own undeserved salvation from certain disaster.

It was a happy thought. Unfortunately, he was a Jedi. And they had opted for _diplomacy._ He sighed, shifting again and cursing the inventor of the ridiculous device holding him in place upon a small raised platform in the dilapidated village's main square. Obviously intended as a means of public humiliation, the pillory stock consisted of nothing more than a rough hewn plank of native timber, provided with holes large enough to accommodate the neck and hands of whatever miscreant was unlucky enough to be pinioned by it. Since he could neither stand straight nor kneel, and since the outside temperature had dropped alarmingly in the past hours, the arrangement was far from luxurious.

He was too uncomfortable even to _brood._

"For stars' _sake_, Siri," he muttered, grouchily. What was taking her so long? Any diplomat with half a tongue in her head could easily have negotiated a more salutary arrangement by now… perhaps he should not have so brazenly declared his connection with Qui-Gon Jinn…. it was quite possible that when the Jedi master eventually heard about this turn of events, his own trenchant advice would be something in the vein of _some truths are better left unspoken, Padawan._

He gritted his teeth and released a harsh sigh, his breath forming an opaque cloud of irritation in the frigid air.

"Well," Siri Tachi remarked, appearing without invitation behind him, "Perhaps we should have something like this installed at the Temple. Seems a reasonable means of disciplining pests."

He twisted as best he could, but could gain no view of her expression. Mental shields rebuffed his subtle probing, but he still felt the undercurrent of bright amusement. "It isn't funny, Siri. Haven't you secured my release yet?"

She leaned over the wooden beam trapping him in place, a loose strand of hair falling forward to tickle against his cheek. "That depends on your point of view," she informed him. "You've been released into my custody for the night. They still don't trust you, and I'm not sure how much progress I've made toward convincing them to accept our help, but it's a start."

"_Your_ custody?"

"Well," she qualified, somewhat ruefully, "I'm permitted to stay with you inside the jail. It was a negotiated compromise."

He snorted. "Brilliant job."

"I _could _ leave you out here to freeze and starve all night," Siri snapped, making a sharp gesture at the guardsmen, who stepped forward to fumble with cold-benumbed hands at the heavy locking mechanism.

* * *

Coori entered the pass-code into an antique keypad and stepped back as the pressurized doors ponderously creaked open. "Welcome to the Hole," he said, with a dramatic flourish. Lighting banks high overhead slowly coughed and sputtered to life, casting an eerie artifical glow over the vast warehouse chamber before them.

The Jedi masters followed their host down a rickety catwalk and several flights of pipe-and-rail stairs to the floor two stories below. Here, ranked in endless rows, shelves and cartons and cabinets and stacked palettes of goods stood crowded together, the salvaged remnants of an entire civilization hoarded under one cavernous roof. Adi gazed out over the labyrinth of aisles and towers, drawing in a breath of wonder. "Like the Archives," she murmured.

Qui-Gon turned in place, marveling at the treasure trove. A layer of dust lay thick upon every surface; though painstakingly collected, the artifacts and holo-books had not been touched in any number of years. "What is this place?" he inquired of their self-appointed guide.

The medic snorted. "This is Apsolon – the real Apsolon. Or at least, its mausoleum. We – the hidden ones, the undergrounders – we've been saving it all for some imagined restoration." He gestured expansively over the entire collection. "For the resurrection of a dead world. But I begin to think that day may never come, and we are but brooding over the bones and rotting corpse of our past. Don't tell Montaag I said that," he added, waving a finger at the Jedi's face. "He's wedded to the ideal – my cynicism might strike him as betrayal."

Adi swept a hand through the air, lifting a blanket of dust into the air and sending it spinning away in a cloud with a subtle use of the Force. Glimmering holo-book spines shone in the gloomy recess of a shelving unit. "A tradition is a living thing," she told the jaded doctor. "This is all useless unless your people are free- is there _nothing_ we can do or say to convince them to aid the cause of liberty?"

The medic snorted. "Ask your mighty Republic for aid."

The Tholothian Jedi's eyes glinted impatiently. "It has been centuries since the Republic kept a standing army. Imposition of order on local systems by means of military power was declared unconstitutional long before Apsolon suffered its first upheaval. Trade sanctions and economic pressure are the primary tools of forcing compliance – but I fear the Republic has lost that leverage. Your world is deep in the patronage of Telos, and perhaps other corporate interests; it is therefore immune to such threats. We cannot help you unless the people of Apsolon – the _resistance_ movement – are willing to help themselves."

But Coori shook his head, adamant. "No. If the Republic wants the New Absolutes deposed, you are on your own." One brindled eyebrow shot upward. "As history tells the tale, Master Jinn, you are a prodigy at such things – you are credited with managing the Worker's Revolution almost single handedly."

The tall Jedi master's leonine features twisted. "I held back a raging flood within bounds, little more. The impetus of those events was entirely in the people's hands. This is different."

"Very," Adi agreed. "The conditioning practices and brainwashing techniques we have witnessed have been in place for many years – there will not be any resistance springing from those under the sway of the Absolutes this time. What of the Civilized? How great are there numbers?"

The medic cocked his head to one side, considering. "Oh, they were in the many thousands to start. But there has been disease, and famine, and much hardship since they went into exile. It is rumored that they have dwindled to a few hundred – five or so, at the most. Not enough to pose a threat. "

"Not when killer droids have been imported in vast quantities," Qui-Gon added.

"They will be slaughtered. And five hundred is still too many to transport off-world. We would require a cruiser to accommodate so many." Adi frowned over the obvious difficulty.

"Or a Telosian freighter," Qui-Gon suggested.

His colleague's eyes brightened. "You are a cunning akk, Jinn. We _could_ hijack the freighter – it should still be in the capitol spaceport."

"Doctor Coori." Qui-Gon turned to their eager ally. "Are there any among the resistance who can fly a class three shipping vessel? Who might do this to save the people in the hills from destruction? We can evacuate them to the nearest developed system, Praxis. The Republic Service Corps has several posts there."

"Pilots? I don't think so… although…." The man ran two hands through his frizzled mop, setting it into a riot of upright spikes and tufts. "They aren't really members of the committed resistance, you understand… more in the nature of _delinquents, _really – but intelligent, full of spirit, and of course quite fascinated by everything mechanical …"

"Who are you talking about?" Adi demanded, exasperation underpinning her tone.

Coori shifted nervously. "Ah, well, there are some young men – ne'er-do-wells, street rabble and troublemakers, who would be thrilled to get off the planet and to spit in the Absolutes' eyes – well, any authority's eyes, for that matter. But I hesitate to recommend them. They might be a _handful."_

"_Delinquents?"_ Adi repeated, dubiously.

Qui-Gon Jinn raised his brows and cast a quelling look at his fellow Jedi. "That won't be a problem," he assured the uneasy medic. "I have plenty of experience dealing with headstrong boys."

* * *

The "jail" proved to be nothing but a small hut built of sun-hardened mud, three sloppily patched walls and a sagging roof set against a flat rock face, and provided with a single hinged door. The two young Jedi were ushered into this dismal shelter, and the suspect Padawan shackled to the solid back wall by means of two thick metal cuffs. The escort nodded mutely at Siri, and took their leave, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Is this really _necessary?" _Obi-Wan griped, rattling the manacles that held his wrists pinned over his head.

"At least you can _sit," _Siri pointed out blithely. "If you escape, or make a show of power, they'll never trust us. I'm sorry you had to complicate matters – maybe you should be seen and not heard from now on."

"Ha." He shifted peevishly, shivering in the damp nighttime air. "…This is _nice."_

The door banged open once more, this time admitting the elder who had accosted them earlier. He bore with him a heavy cloak of animal skin, and a tray laden with food. These items he handed to Siri with a short bow. "For your comfort," he grunted. Then, crouching down to address Obi-Wan, "You see to what savage condition your esteemed mentor has reduced us. I hope it pleases you."

"The alternative was _annihilation,"_ the Padawan objected, tightly. "My master did not intend you harm. Much the reverse."

But the old man merely smiled wanly. "You weren't even born, boy. Believe me, there were many among us who would prefer a swift and honorable death to this lingering shame. You Jedi deal out peace as you will – cramming it down the throats of those who might more gladly suffer oblivion. Remember that, next time you meddle in a revolution."

He chuckled mirthlessly at the fulminating look this unsolicited advice earned him, and rose to his feet, aged joints popping. "Your companion is blindly loyal to a blind fool," he told Siri as he departed, shuffling away into the inhospitable night.

"Well," she remarked when they were alone, "You make friends wherever you go, Kenobi." She peered at the food, testing the contents of a clay tureen and sniffing at a chunk of dense bread. "Hungry?"

"I'm hardly in a position to _dine,"_ Obi-Wan growled, rattling his bonds again. "Thanks to your diplomatic skills."

She scooted closer. "I could feed you."

"What?" He let his head drop back against the wall. "No. I'll be fine – besides, you need it more than I do."

A shaft of dim moonlight fell through the grated window in the door, striping Siri in ghastly silver and black. "Oh, I see," she breathed, dangerously. "_You_ always have to be the hero in any given situation. You can't accept help, you only give it."

He squirmed, vexation stirring in his blood. "This isn't a _situation,_ Siri! This is a voluntary inconvenience. I _could _ walk out of here in five seconds flat, but I choose to stay because it's prudent."

She ripped off a chunk of bread with her teeth and chewed contemplatively. "You let me help you on Ord Ursolon." Her voice was flat, the calm before a storm.

"That's completely different," he objected.

"Why?" The Force suddenly tautened with her contained rage. "Because I was in danger too? You only like it when I'm helpless or damaged? You prefer to gloat in your superiority? Your _invulnerability?"_

"That's not what I –"

"Yes it is," Siri snarled, scooting closer, and then closer, until their faces were a mere hand's-width apart. The Force roiled with inaudible thunder, a dam threatening to break. "That's half your problem! You think being a Jedi means being powerful, saving people, don't you? Well, let me _tell you something_, Kenobi." She suddenly grabbed at his tunics, fisting her fingers in the cloth. "Sometimes _saving others_ means getting screwed yourself!" She yanked tabards free of his belt, seized his collars and wrenched the cloth apart, grabbed and jerked his braid – twisting it painfully with one hand while she planted a knee against his hipbone and savagely tore at his belt, the waistband beneath with the other. _"_ It means being helpless. It means accepting _this!"_ Her hand shot downward, abruptly seizing a handful of sensitive flesh in a crushing grip.

Back arching, jaw clenched tight, he bit back a cry of distress. "Siri!" he gasped, appalled at the impersonal wrath bleeding in the Force, at her unthinkable boldness. "_Siri…"_

"_That's what it means," _she hissed in his ear, trembling. Her vise-like hold loosened, and he sagged in relief, panting to match her ragged breaths. "Not your stupid heroics and your kriffing pride and your snotty attitude, Obi-Wan!"

Thoughts and clothing in equal disarray, he struggled to form words. "I'm… sorry," he managed at last, watching her turn away to contend with her inner demons once again. "Siri, I'm so sorry. I don't…. I thought we weren't going to talk about –"

"We're _not," _she cut him off. "We're talking about _you_ and _your_ problems."

"Oh." He swallowed, took a deep calming breath. Humor. It had always been his first and last defense, his sure foundation of sanity. "Well, in that case, my foremost difficulty seems to be that I'm _cold, hungry, and _incarcerated with a raving lunatic."

She turned back to him then, a tiny shaft of wry amusement breaking through the dark clouds looming in the Force, but just as quickly obscured by a spattering rain of grief and remorse. Siri knelt before him, briefly touching her forehead to the floor. "I – I am unworthy of the Order," she said, voice breaking. "I won't even ask your forgiveness. I don't deserve it… I deserve your contempt."

"I don't despise you at all," he protested, helpless in the face of her anger and grief. "Siri, please…"

She silently wept.

He squirmed, tempted to pry the binders loose with the Force, sweep her into his arms, and – but no. That was precisely what she did not want. _Blast it all to the-_

"Siri."

Silence.

"Siri: it's freezing, I'm famished, and some star-forsaken insect has just bitten my ear and I can't scratch it. I need your help."

She stirred, his pleas reaching past her suffering to her deepest core, where compassion still held sway over anger, where such a call could not but be heard.

"You're my only hope," he pointed out." If Master Qui-Gon were here, he would say it's my own fault."

Siri Tachi gathered her shredded composure and reached for the food and the heavy fur cloak. "It is," she agreed, tartly, "but I'll take pity upon you because you're so pathetic."

He did not dare contradict her assessment, but patiently endured the ordeal as she carefully fed him, and straightened his skewed garments with apologetic gentleness, and then pulled the thick and voluminous animal skin about both their shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she murmured again, leaning against the wall close beside him. She stared into the darkness ahead, as though trying to pierce the shroud of memory and emotion, the obscuring mantle of horrific experience. "I don't … I wish…. Never mind."

He knew better than to answer; after all, he had promised not to speak of it.

They kept a miserable and silent vigil through the bitter watches of night.


	17. Chapter 17

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**17.**

Morning light filtered beneath the thick door, a ghostly visitor come to watch over the living as they slept, one chained in restless discomfort to the stone wall, the other curled in childlike abandon beneath a rumpled fur, head resting upon the other's lap. Daylight skimmed over both sleepers, brushed over the girl's tangled halo, teased at the young man's eyelids until they fluttered open, the brows above contracting in a furrow of distaste.

"Son of a _slatternly Hutt," _a hoarse voice croaked.

Siri Tachi stirred, the silky cloak sliding off her shoulders as she groggily shoved herself upright. "Ugh. Kenobi – are you _still_ complaining?"

Her companion allowed his head to fall back against the rough wall, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing as he forced circulation back into his numb hands, stretched the already abused shoulder muscles. "No," he huffed, "I'm ecstatic. Let's do this again sometime."

She snorted, wrapping both arms about her shivering frame. "I'll make the reservations."

Footfalls sounded outside the confines of their prison; the muffled noises of early morning chores, the changing of guards outside. Obi-Wan opened his eyes and studied Siri critically, squinting in the dim light. 'You're still ill," he accused her. "You should see if they've a medic here – perhaps they –"

"No," she snapped. "I don't want _anyone_ touching me. I can handle it _myself."_

"Look," he continued in a reasonable tone, pulling forward earnestly to the small extent permitted by the binders, "There is no point in pretending. If you were… injured, and an infection has developed, then -"

"_Stop."_ Siri held up a hand. "You're not _in charge_ of me."

"I'm _concerned,"_ he insisted, impatience and the ache in his arms and back fueling his audacity. "And you're a proud fool, Siri Tachi, if you think you can _will_ the past out of existence."

"We're not _talking_ about this, Kenobi!"

"Fine!" He wrestled his own temper into submission, but it just as swiftly broke free of his grasp again. "I'll just sit here and _wallow_ in my own ineffable suffering. That will make two of us."

Siri's blue gaze burned into him, and he returned it steadily, two duelists locked in a silent bind, mirrored resentment howling discord in the Force like a pair of shrieking saber blades.

The door banged open, and they disengaged, actinic fire fluttering like embers in the Force.

A foursome of elderly villagers entered, every one of them clad in tattered and faded remnants of past glory, courtiers' raiment worn to threadbare squalor by time and the elements.

"You," the foremost of these addressed Obi-Wan. "You are the student of the filthy manipulator Jinn?"

The Padawan's chin came up. "You call yourself Civilized but you speak ill of an honorable man."

"You call yourself _Jedi_ but you sit at the feet of a treacherous coward who goes whoring with untruth like the lowbred swine he is."

The chains holding the prisoner's wrists nearly wrenched free of their deep-set mooring; the door slammed shut with a deafening boom. Three of the emissaries cringed backward.

"Obi-Wan!" Siri shouted, holding out a hand in either direction.

The flinty-faced elder narrowed his yellow-clouded eyes, speaking to her in turn. "We have decided to call this friend of yours before the tribunal. If he is so loyal to Jinn, he can speak for his master's heinous crimes."

"There is no time for such foolish delays!" Siri interjected. "You are all in danger – let us help you! This is nothing but indulgence in an ancient grudge!"

It was an ill chosen phrase. "Ancient?" the angry man sneered. "What seems ancient to you, _child,_ is recent and harrowing memory to us – an insult from which we have yet to recover, and which haunts every hour of our waking lives. Look around you… this is not a grudge but living injustice."

Siri Tachi ground her teeth in frustration as two more guards pushed their way into the crowded space.

"Bring the prisoner."

The men took a hesitant step toward the captive, only to be shoved roughly backward against the opposite wall by an invisible wave of power. Obi-Wan's lip curled, the Force snapping sharply as the hard manacles sprang open. The Civilized uttered a collective gasp and pressed backward, stepping on one another's toes. A blaster flew from the grip of the nearest and smashed into the stone wall in a shower of sparks.

"I'll _come,"_the young Jedi growled, rubbing at his wrists. "But not as your prisoner." He shouldered his way through the throng, ignoring the wavering barrels of blaster weapons thrust against him as he flung open the door and stormed into the frigid village square outside, Siri and the Civilized at his heels.

* * *

"Here we are… step this way, that's right – show some respect, Jass! This is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and Master Adi Gallia , of Coruscant."

The shuffling and disaffected gang of surly youths came to halt just inside the portico of the University's disused library – the gutted frame of a once beautiful building, now a blackened stretch of girders and collapsed roofing.

The loosely recognized leader of the group took a long drag on his smokestick and shot a long trail of blue through both nostrils. "Not my master," he grunted. "Coori says you got a proposition for us," he added, lifting his chin to address Qui-Gon directly.

"An opportunity for you to better your condition," the Jedi master corrected him, mildly.

Jass grunted and sucked in another lungful. "Oh yeah?" He turned mockingly to his comrades. "You hear that? We're gonna get _improved_ – his high holiness here has come down _specially_ to fix our characters."

Coori nearly choked on his outrage, but Qui-Gon merely took a single measured stride forward, and plucked the smoldering smokestick from Jass' lips, dropping it to the floor and crushing it beneath his boot heel. "First, you will stop indulging in vile and unhealthy habits."

"Hey!" The youth's face puckered with resentment. "You got no right to do that!"

The tall man raised a brow. "You can, of course, return to the meaningless rut of your present existence. I make no claim upon you unless you voluntarily remain."

Some of the delinquents stirred, muttering angrily among themselves, but Jass' eyes narrowed to feral slits, weighing risk and benefit with a cold objectivity. "So you want us to what? _Obey_ you or something? We've been through that before. See us? We're the ones the Absolutes can't control – we give 'em the thumb! We're too _smart_ for kriffing _obedience."_

The Jedi master was unimpressed. "The ability to sustain a tantrum does not make you intelligent." Behind him, Adi Gallia raised a hand to cover her burgeoning smile.

Jass's chest puffed out indignantly. "Well, that laser sword and your big nose don't make you my superior. Neither does being _old."_

Qui-Gon glanced sideways at Coori. "I'm afraid they don't live up to your recommendation. They aren't qualified for the job… we'll have to find someone else." He turned and began striding across the wide, dusty floor.

"Hey – hey, _wait!"_

The tall man paused, casting a politely interrogative look over one shoulder.

Jass stood arms akimbo, his cronies ranked behind him in resentful silence. "You didn't even tell us the plan, mister! What job? What qualification? We can handle _anything."_

Qui-Gon turned halfway. "The kind of seditious plot I have in mind requires supreme self-control on the part of every team member."

"We got that!" one of the boys asserted.

"Really?" A dubious glance swept over the entire scruffy assembly. "All evidence points to the contrary. This requires discipline and focus."

The sullen group stirred, exchanging worried glances. Jass hushed them with a repressive gesture, eyes glinting with a contained desperation. "Do what he says, you idjits," he hissed. "This is our ticket off-world."

Adi's luminous eyes widened in amusement, briefly meeting Qui-Gon's gaze and then returning to the bickering cluster of youths.

"Very well.," the tall man addressed his recruits. "You will _sit_ and you will _listen, _and there will be no use of narcotic inhalants while you do so."

"What?" An outburst of petulant objection met this pronouncement.

Qui-Gon waited, arms folded across his chest.

"Shut up, shut up you lot. Okay, fine," Jass answered, scowling at his minions.

The Jedi raised a brow, expectant.

The intractable youth threw up his hands. "Okay, _fine! Kriff it!_ " He glanced over his shoulder at his sniggering comrades. "You barves, I'm gonna kill you all." He thrust a finger downward at the floor. "Sit. The man said sit, already. Show some respect."

The ruffians reluctantly complied, mutinous imprecations kept to a truculent murmur.

"When I give an order," Qui-Gon sternly instructed them, "You will obey without hesitation, and your response – if any- will be limited to _yes, master."_

"I thought Jedi were supposed to be the protectors of _democracy_!" a bold youth in the back of the group quipped, insolence ringing in every syllable.

"You can vote on the penalty for insubordination," the Jedi master informed him dryly.

"Shut up, Yock!" an angry swarm of voices castigated the speaker, who cringed and fell silent.

"And you will extend the same courtesy to Master Gallia and Doctor Coori," Qui-Gon added, fixing his interim Padawans with a severe eye.

"….Yes, master," they meekly chorused.

* * *

The tribunal was held in the village's one sturdy structure, a wide hall constructed of mortared rock and thick support pillars hewn from the trunks of trees. Within the vestibule, a few salvaged scraps of tapestry, a handful of ornamental headdresses, and a flickering row of holo-projectors were displayed upon a high inset shelf, the last relics of a lost heritage. Wide double doors – hinged, for there was not a pressure piston or any other mechanical device more advanced than a simple blaster cartridge to be found in the entire Civilized precinct – issued the company into the main chamber, where a gathering of the exiled people's elders sat in tattered and melancholy state, a pitiable echo of the intimidating pomp that must once have been theirs.

Accustomed to the penetrating regard of the Jedi High Council, Obi-Wan found the show of aged splendor, the intended occasion of dread and majesty, to be a trite puppet-show by comparison. But he kept the thought to himself, only casting one briefly eloquent glance at Siri, who met his gaze levelly, her blue eyes conveying less enjoyment of the joke than concern for the delicate situation.

The head of the would-be judiciary panel stood. "Why does the prisoner come before us in force of arms?"

Those assigned to guard the young Jedi murmured and shifted evasively.

"I am not armed," Obi-Wan pointed out. "And I come before you by _your_ request, to answer for supposed crimes for which even you will concede I am blameless, since they were committed before I was born."

"Do not let the sorcerer bend your mind, Gallion!" one of the assembled courtiers advised, in a stage whisper. "The Jedi are known to pervert the reason of others, shaping it to their own will and feeding lies and sophistries to the unwary, until they can no longer distinguish their own thought from that of their tormentor."

"Is this true?" the man called Gallion demanded.

The Padawan held up his hands. "If it were, how would I disprove it?"

"We know it to be true! That liar Jinn bent the minds of many, when the lowbred Workers rose up in revolt and overthrew the civilization that sustained and protected them. He turned some of our own numbers upon their own blood relatives, and he poured venomous malice into the ears of the new leadership, inflicting this present fate upon us – and all the while, he feigned alliance with us, promising his goodwill and help. Trust nothing a Jedi says!"

"If I could so easily hold you under my sway, would I have spent the last day as your captive? I have patiently endured your insults to my own person – but I will not endure calumnies imposed upon my master."

The Civilized muttered among themselves, the Force textured with mingled pique and approval.

"Honor and loyalty we understand, Jedi – but blind fealty to a treacherous knave bears witness more to your youth than your virtue," Gallion replied, settling back into his wide chair. "Enough bandying of words. You are here for one purpose, whether by your own choice or not. We are the dispossessed rulers of this planet. The one you call teacher and master has upon his conscience our present state of poverty and distress. By his machinations we were overthrown and sent into exile – and the courageous band of fighters who committed their very lives to the destruction of the new regime were apprehended and punished because of his interference."

Obi-Wan reached into the Force, sure of discovering the sickly twist of untruth in this accusation, but the universal energy rang clear and pure with sincerity, with the awful possibility that Gallion knew a secret about Qui-Gon Jinn which neither historical record or the man's own narrative had hitherto revealed. He swallowed, uneasily weighing the implications.

"You have nothing to say to this?" The leader of the Civilized leaned forward, eyes softening with something akin to pity. "Or did you not know the extent of Jinn's villainy?"

Deliberately unclenching his hands, the young Jedi looked up steadily. "I cannot judge what I did not witness."

Another of the elders _pshawed_ audibly, and made brief eye contact with Gallion.

The latter eased himself back in his seat, gripping the armrests. "A wise and prudent policy – one which does not lay the self at risk for any other. And yet, I thought you came not on your own behalf but as emissaries of your Order? Your friend, "- a brief nod at Siri Tachi – "would urge us to flee or fortify against attack, and asks us to believe her words on the weight and reputation of the Jedi. Now you tell me that you do not vouch for any member of your Order or his actions, but those which you have yourself seen and heard. Which is it boy? Are you a man of careful counsel or one oath-sworn to a cause? Are you nothing but yourself or one of a whole?"

It was not frequently that the addressee of this question found himself out-played at a game of cunning; the realization of his rhetorical slip brought color to his cheeks. He shut his mouth and stood a moment, gathering his stunned wits about him. Nearby, Siri's tense expectation tuned the Force to a strident pitch.

"How am I to trust that you bring a true warning and not some sinister plot to destroy us, when you yourself will not stand responsible for that which your Order has wrought? If the name Jedi is to inspire us with trust, then answer for your master – and if you will not, then do not ask us to trust strangers, much less those who swear allegiance to a distant and repugnant sect."

Without his 'saber, without the support of Qui-Gon's guidance, without any certainty what had transpired so many years ago, Obi-Wan stood encircled not only by his self-appointed judges but by his own doubts. He would not betray Qui-Gon; he would not brush aside the demands of conscience and truth; he would not fail his mandate to complete the mission; he would not disavow the Jedi.

Siri watched him, hand unconsciously wrapping about his 'saber hilt, her eyes limpid with bright comprehension of the dilemma, with the trap latent in the question.

The Light whispered in his heart. _You are prisoner neither of them, nor of what has been._

He sank to one knee, bowing his head in humility before the circle of condemning elders, the resentful scions of a ruined nobility. "I speak as a Jedi – on behalf of the Order, as best my limited skill and experience permit me. And I beg your pardon for any offense or injury which our past actions have inflicted upon you, whether intentionally or not. We are sworn to uphold justice and to protect the lives of the innocent, but this path is not always clear or easy, for us any more than others. We come now to protect, and to warn you of imminent danger. If by our service in this small regard we can make recompense for past failing, then I would humbly ask your trust in this, knowing that it cannot be forced from you, whether by violence or trickery."

Siri's tiny gasp sent a fluttering chill up his spine, an echo of the surprise thrilling in the wide meeting house, resounding impalpably among the rafters and the columns, coiling in the dust-laden sunlight.

Gallion at last stood, his threadbare robes cascading to the hard-packed floor. "Spoken as a Jedi, and what is more and better: spoken as a man." He paused, nodding his head in approval. "We absolve you of your master's crimes, and we will heed your counsel in this matter."

Obi-Wan rose fluidly to his feet, to find Siri already standing proud and straight at his side. "You chosski," she breathed in his ear.

He took the insult equitably, cherishing every nuance of its intent.


	18. Chapter 18

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 18.**

Siri Tachi spooned the unappetizing gruel into her mouth with a fleeting grimace of distaste.

"It's better than field ration pellets," Obi-Wan declared, bravely, eyeing the breakfast provided by their Civilized hosts with determined optimism.

His companion chased the thick porridge down with a long swig of water. "No. It's not." She gazed disconsolately at her half-emptied bowl. "Here… I don't have much appetite. You finish this." She thrust the shallow dish into his hands, watching as he reluctantly applied himself to the second helping.

"It's disgusting," he admitted, "But I'm _starving."_

Their eyes met, mirth sparking invisibly between them.

"I don't mean to sound greedy, but are you going to finish that?' they intoned, in unison. Quiet laughter blended in the warming air, a dual arpeggio chiming in the Force.

Siri hugged her knees. "I wonder where Reeft is stationed now."

"Force knows." The mountainside slowly caught the rising sun's fire, blanched slopes suddenly aglow with vibrant color. "….But wherever he is, that unfortunate system now suffers a food shortage."

They pulled borrowed cloaks about their shoulders, in a mute synchrony. "I'm going to tell him you said that."

"Fine. And he can defend his honor in the dojo later." A smirk of gleeful anticipation.

Siri's fingers traced over the contours of the 'saber hilt clipped at her belt, resting on the crenellated pommel. Her eyes slipped sideways, out over the fog-brimmed valleys below, where shadows still lurked, last refugees from the sun's piercing rays. "They took my weapon." She swallowed. "That was the worst part."

He knew better than to contradict. And perhaps it was true… a Jedi's weapon was his – her- life. Her identity as protector, as Force-blessed, as warrior sage. Stripped of all that set them apart, they were after all but flesh and bone, violable as any other creature. Training and devotion were but armor over vulnerable mortality, over the trembling humanity beneath, the pulsing nexus of breath and blood, that soil in which the Living Force had mysteriously sown its seeds, a thing rendered all the more fragile by the weighty demands placed upon its humble nature.

His hand found hers, and closed softly about it, a meager warmth cupped and pooling between their palms.

"What you said to the tribunal… that was – it was wise," Siri offered, tentatively.

He watched the far horizon, where a pair of thranctills soared on a thermal updraft, circling and crossing each other's path, two pairs of wings outstretched in the swelling blaze of morning light, as though upheld by sheer radiance.

"I think Master Jinn would be proud," she insisted, sensing his inner unrest.

He lifted one shoulder, the phantom of a shrug. "I feel as though I've betrayed him." A rueful quirk of the mouth followed this confession. "And he always says I _apologize_ too much – so I doubt he would be proud on that account."

Her own temperament balanced more on the side of pragmatism, Siri brushed this away. "You think too much, too. But it was still well done. They've decided to listen to us."

He snorted. "Good. Now if only we knew what to say."

She tucked a straying wisp of hair behind her ear and dropped her eyes again, resting her chin against her folded knees. "I wish my master were here…. She would know what course of action to take. She always… " A short exhalation. "She - they hurt her badly. There. In the Absolutes' prison. I – I could feel all of it – we – through the Force, and – " Siri fell silent, tamping the memory down again on a longer exhalation.

They followed the progress of the thranctills as the winged hunters joined, grappling in high heaven with talons and beaks, a flurried knot of feather and claw, and then locked together in a plummeting spiral, to disengage only at the last moment before impact, their ancient dance consummated on the bright edge of destruction.

Obi-Wan threaded his fingers through hers. "I'm truly sorry, Siri."

She snorted, softly. "You do apologize too much."

"I'm sorry," he smiled back, unrepentant.

Siri looked up, risking a glance in his direction. She hesitated, color rising in her cheeks. "I'm sorry, too - The other night… in the prison… I don't know what to say."

Her gaze fled shyly from his as he raised twinkling eyes to her face.

"Yes, well," he remarked dryly. "Perhaps it would be best if we, ah... don't speak of it."

Their interlaced fingers tightened minutely, and they sat in silence a while longer, as the thranctills' silhouettes gently faded into the glory of distant morning.

* * *

"Chiiiiissk," Jass breathed reverently, eyes widening as he watched the remnants of the final security patrol droid clatter in smoking ruin to the ground.

Qui-Gon Jinn's lightsaber snapped back into its hilt. Ahead, from the cover of the next shadowed alley, Adi Gallia waved them forward with a curt hand signal. The eager group jogged across the intervening street, hard on the heels of their tall leader, and pressed themselves against the wall of the next building.

"One more block, and we'll be on the exterior wall of the hangar building," Adi whispered. "There's a maintenance lift to ground level, operated by remote. Someone will have to get to the control room and override the system."

Jass and his cronies looked from one Jedi master to the next, but it was Dr. Coori who volunteered for the risky assignment. "I still have my emergency medic's clearance code," he informed them. "It should get me into the operating center without difficulty. Of course, I haven't the foggiest what to do once I'm there. Living things are my specialty – cybernetics is for droids." He shrugged. "If it's not a bone knitter or a diagnostic scanner, I'm hopeless."

Adi flashed him a rare smile. "I don't normally recommend wanton destruction, but this might be an appropriate occasion to blast everything in sight. The more damage the better."

Several of the young ruffians immediately held up hands, volunteering themselves for the dangerous task as well.

"No." Qui-Gon quashed their hopes with a single repressive look.

The next security patrol hovered by, optic scanners and motion detectors buzzing angrily as it passed their place of concealment.

Qui-Gon extended a hand, summoning the Force's inexorable power, and pulled the spheroid robot forward, 'saber leaping to life and rebounding the struggling droid's defensive fire back into its carapace, and then neatly impaling it upon his searing blade. The dead shell rolled to a stop at Coori's feet, the scent of molten metal a sharp tang in the air.

"_Holy_ chiiiiiissk," Jass repeated, giddy with approval.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Let's get moving."

Another brisk sprint brought them to the shelter of a massive duracrete wall, the back side of the government compound. High overhead, a wide docking bay entrance gaped wide, a mouth leading into cavernous shadow. Adi pointed to a small door at ground level.

Coori fished his medic's code key from an interior pocket and applied it to the lock plate with trembling hand; lights flashed, an interior mechanism whirred, and the panel slid open. The doctor made them an elaborate bow, grinning ear to ear, his optic enhancers sliding to the end of his long nose as he bent double with a flourish, waving them all inside.

"Get to the lift," the medic said, his courage rising visibly with his first success. "I'll take care of the control center." And he was off, long jacket flapping about his lanky frame.

"Your friend may yet break his oath to do no harm," Qui-Gon remarked to his colleague.

Adi's generous lips quirked upward ruefully. "May the Force be with him."

They crammed into the lift. A minute later, the lights flickered, and the carriage jolted into motion, rising steadily to the hangar level, where they spilled out onto the polished decks of the restricted docking bay. The Telosian freighter stood ready for take-off, a droid ground crew making final preparations to the fueling system and radiation dampers.

The brazen intruders were accosted immediately by a hulking guard in the Absolutes' severe uniform. "You aren't authorized to be here," he grunted. Then, eyes widening as he took in Adi's face and Jedi apparel, "Fierfek! You!"

Before his hand could reach the blaster slung at his side, the weapon had flown from its holster into the Tholothian's grip. She sighted down the barrel. "The ignition coder for that vessel," she demanded.

The man stammered, eyeing the disreputable youths who surged past him toward the waiting ship, led by Qui-Gon. A roving security droid buzzed forward, cannon ready; Adi squeezed off a shot just past the guard's ear, taking out the oncoming foe's main processor with one exquisitely accurate hit. The droid clattered to the deck. A second shot sailed past the Apsolonian's other ear, nailing a frantic mech-droid headed for the emergency alarm panel at the hangar's far side.

Cringing, Adi's captive flung the ignition cylinder at her and covered his head with both hands, the double singeing reducing him to cowering passivity.

"Qui-Gon!" The tiny object flew into the tall man's hand. Jass and his companions raced up the freighter's open ramp, hollering and letting off dramatic war-cries, an unbecoming display of puerile enthusiasm that no Jedi Padawan in the Order's long history would ever dare exhibit in the presence of two Masters. Adi shot out the overhead surveillance cameras in a shower of sparks, causing her overwrought captive to whimper in fear.

A host of automated security rolled into the hangar from the adjacent warehouse, robotic voices calling for the thieves to desist and stand down. Qui-Gon charged the entire legion, emerald blade singing furiously, a double handed Ataru offensive that set the air to howling, carved wild ribbons of light, wrought glorious explosive destruction as the 'saber felled droid after droid, sending limbs and heads skittering along the smooth deck, sparking circuits flying in all directions, shrieking bleeps of dismay ringing against the high rafters.

Alarms flared; emergency lights flashed, pulsing bright and dark; the ponderous doors of the bay began to roll shut, seeking to trap them inside the cavernous space.

Wheeling about amid the scattered remains of the security detachment, Qui-Gon sucked in a sharp breath. "Adi!"

She met his gaze, blue eyes aflame with the battle, the stolen blaster coming up to shoulder height as he called upon the Force and hurled an unfortunate gonk droid loaded with compressed tibanna fuel straight at the narrowing gap. She pulled the trigger three times in quick succession, pummeling the tumbling box with blaster fire, the droid's squat legs jerking about frenziedly just before the volatile chemical contents blew it apart, rocking the entire bay with the resultant fireball, flattening even the two Jedi with an obliterating shock wave.

The doors hung wide, a mangled pulp of slag and twisted plastoid – and the freighter lurched off the decks and into the sky beyond, slipping through the city's orange protective dome in a glittering flash.

* * *

"How long do you suppose it will take for all the Civilized to gather?"

Obi-Wan considered the question idly, working away at a two-meter length of sapling wood with his knife, stripping away bark and protruding branches, rendering the sturdy length of young wood into a serviceable quarterstaff.

"That's too long for you," Siri pointed out, sitting cross-legged on a nearby boulder.

"Size matters not," he grumbled. Then, "It depends how remote the stragglers are. It's getting _late,_ and I have a bad feeling."

Siri nodded. "I feel it too. Those trackers are catching up with us. But what should we do? Even if we have everyone contained inside the village perimeter, it's hardly a defensible position."

"They can set up barricades, and they have blaster weapons. We could hold the central courtyard," her fellow Padawan mused, frowning over his handiwork.

"With one lightsaber between us?"

He grinned. "We have them out-powered."

They fell silent, the brave jest settling slowly between them like their opaque clouds of breath.

"Maybe we should try to evacuate them to a better position," Siri suggested.

He leapt down from his own perch and gave the staff an experimental twirl, hefting it in one hand.

"Too long," Siri insisted. "You're not Qui-Gon Jinn, you know."

He shot her a caustic look. "It's perfect how it is. Here." He tossed a heavy branch of knotted wood at her. "Practice."

Siri pursed her lips, shoved her hair behind her ears, and slid down to the frozen earth. She searched among the tumbled rock and debris until she found a second weapon, a lethally springy switch of flexible young wood. Certain anticipation lit her wan features, the high color brought on by low-grade fever heightened with mettlesome pleasure. "Your arrogant _pula_ is about to get a royal whipping," she warned him.

"I don't think so." The staff spun in a wild circle, setting the afternoon air humming with combative delight.

Siri shifted the dangerously thin switch into reverse grip, _shoto-_ style, and dropped into a dual-blade opening stance, eyes glittering. "I'll cut you down to size, Kenobi."

He raised his brows, conveying bland disdain. "That's what they all say… and they all go limping away afterward, too."

She launched herself into the attack, and the melee was joined. The hillside echoed with the harsh clack and scrape of wood on wood, the whistling edge of the thin switch, the solid thwack of Siri's heavier weapon, the rustle and skittering of dead leaves and loose gravel underfoot. The stave spun and reversed, blocking and striking in a continuous liquid motion; Siri's double-blade offensive cut and parried, thrust and swiped beneath the spinning disc of his defenses, making no headway. They leapt over ragged chunks of stones, ducked behind trees, slid and stumbled up and down the uneven slope, panting and laughing in a joyful rhythm.

Siri's larger branch finally broke beneath the torrent of abuse. She tossed it aside and redoubled her effort to land a strike with the switch, cutting a whistling swath of danger through the air, rolling and ducking to bring herself beneath his guard. He retreated, casually, grinning with rare abandon, enjoying the advantage of commanding the higher ground-

Until she slipped and lost her footing, nearly tumbling backwards down the rock-strewn incline.

He dropped his weapon and sprang to her side, offering a hand in assistance.

Siri groaned, extending her own hand for his – and then pulled him down, planted a foot against his thigh and rolled him over her shoulders, sending him skidding down the hill behind her. She summoned the staff into her own grasp and made hot pursuit in a flurry of sliding grit and dust. He twisted, catching the long weapon in both hands, wrestling for control even as they somersaulted further down the hill, coming up against a knot of tangled roots in a flailing heap, Siri on top, the staff pressed close under her opponent's chin.

"You _lose,"_ she laughed at him. "Chivalry is your undoing. Now surrender."

He released his grip on the makeshift weapon and held up both hands, pacifically. "…Perhaps we can negotiate?"

Her breath was warm against his neck, her Padawan braid dangling against his skin, tickling infernally. She pressed the staff in closer against his throat, her knees digging in against his sides where she held him pinned beneath her firm weight. Their chests rose and fell in unison, pulses racing in tandem. Instinctive natural longing rose from deep within him, to the utter alarm of both parties.

Siri scrambled upright with a muffled curse.

They both blushed violently, looking in opposite directions.

And then Obi-Wan's comlink chimed, startling them both, and saving them from boundless mortification.

"Master?" the young Jedi answered, toggling the receive switch.

But it was not Qui-Gon Jinn's voice that answered. "Ha – _master_! I like the sound of that… but this ain't him. I got a message from Master Jinn for some guy called Kanubi, or somethin'."

Siri's amusement was palpable, though she kept a straight face.

"Speaking," Obi-Wan answered, tightly. "Who is _this_, and what is the message?"

"Keep your pants on, bro. Hook your link to a holoplate and I'll send it through. Name's Jass, by the way."

Silently, the Padawan fumbled his compact projector out of its belt-pouch and wired it to his comlink. A moment later, the shimmering blue effigies of Qui Gon Jinn and Adi Gallia appeared above the tiny plate.

"Padawan," the Jedi master said. "Listen closely."


	19. Chapter 19

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

The Padawans leaned in closer, instantly attentive.

"We have sent this message with Jass Caulff, and his associates. They are working in conjunction with us to help evacuate the Civilized. They are currently piloting a Telosian cargo freighter, the hold of which is sufficient to contain six hundred sentients, perhaps more if needful." Qui-Gon's flickering image moved aside to permit Adi's smaller form to appear on-camera.

"The rendezvous point is the high plateau due directly north-northeast of the city. It is easily distinguishable as a visual landmark. We are sorry there are no specific coordinates to give you. Siri, you must move whatever people are willing to flee to this point with all due haste. We are certain that the Purification effort has already been launched, and that killer droids are on their way. Your first priority is to evacuate the innocent. You and Padawan Kenobi will depart with the freighter and proceed to Praxis. Make arrangements with the Republic service corps outpost there to arrange for refugee status. Master Jinn and I will join you as soon as we are able."

At the mention of leaving without their masters, both young Jedi tensed - but there was no means to debate the point, for this was nothing more than a pre-recorded message relayed through the freighter's comm. equipment.

Qui-Gon had apparently anticipated the response, however, for he leaned in again, long hair spilling over one shoulder. "Obi-Wan," he said, intently. "Let me reiterate: take Padawan Tachi and escort the Civilized to safety. You will proceed directly to Praxis and wait for our arrival or further instructions. What little remains to be done about the situation here on Apsolon, Master Gallia and I will accomplish. Lives depend on you – _that_ is your priority, not _my_ safety."

Qui-Gon's Padawan favored the shimmering blue hologram with a fulminating look, to absolutely no effect.

Adi Gallia nodded solemnly. "Siri," she added. "I know that you will do great credit to your training. We will …talk later, my _siripasa_. May the Force be with you."

Her apprentice swallowed audibly.

Qui-Gon's image glanced back at the holo-cam one last time, blithely confident of receiving no arguments or objections to his instruction. "I have confidence in you both." And the transmission ended in a snap of sapphire light.

"_Siripasa?" _Obi-Wan grinned at his companion. "Isn't that Twi'Lek for –"

Her flashing eyes warned him not to press the point. "I'm sure Master Jinn has a nickname for _you_, too."

Well. That was – "No. He does not."

_Brat_ was not a nickname. Not technically, anyway.

Siri's brows rose in dubiety. "Right. And he didn't feel obliged to tell you _twice_ not to try anything stupid on his account." She watched carefully as Obi-Wan replaced the comm. equipment in its belt pouch, but he did not rise to the bait. Deprived of occasion for further teasing, her focus narrowed to the problem at hand. "We'll need to speak to Gallion. The outlying people are still coming in...and they must all be convinced to leave most their possessions behind. They'll need help mobilizing. And the terrain…"

He released a long breath. They had seen the plateau in question during their reconnaissance of the surrounding area. "It won't be easy," he sighed. "They have elderly and young ones. And there likely is no trail."

Siri bit her lower lip. "And plenty of ambush points for attackers."

Yes. That too. And he had other doubts, as well. "That freighter might be large enough to contain six hundred, but I have a bad feeling about the life support. That's quite a strain on the power generators. Unless we lower the refractive shields a few degrees, once we leave atmosphere."

She made a face. "This gets better and better. And who's this Jass person anyway? How do we know we can trust him? I bet he's one of those lowlifes from the Guild! Your master is taking _quite_ the gamble, putting someone like that in charge."

Obi-Wan's spine stiffened. "Master Jinn's judgment is – " He almost said, _above reproach, _ but the words transformed into a milder declaration, even as they left his lips. "- reliable, where individual character is concerned."

There _had_ been some very questionable pathetic life forms over the years… but Qui-Gon had never yet adopted an outright traitor.

"I hope you're right," Siri grudgingly allowed.

Obi-Wan picked up the fallen quarterstaff and set out across the jumble of roots and stones. "Let's go."

* * *

Dr. Coori doubled over, bony hands splayed upon his knees, panting for breath. "Ah…my goodness… ah, dear…. Is that it? Have we escaped?"

Adi smiled gently upon the gasping medic. "We're safe for now," she decided, her deep voice softened with a measure of pity. The explosion in the hangar bay had provided serviceable cover for their escape, and destroyed a good portion of the government complex's automatic security measures as well, but poor Dr. Coori was an amateur at sabotage and evasive maneuvers, and the hundred meter drop to the outside ground level, the Jedi masters rappelling down their liquid cables with the petrified doctor held between them, had probably raised his blood pressure to dangerous levels.

They crouched in an abandoned artisan's shop near the ruined university.

"Doctor Coori," Qui-Gon addressed their ally. "Master Gallia and I cannot remain much longer in Apsolis. We are duty bound to find what outside influences are responsible for your world's present distress, and to return quickly to Coruscant to report to the Senate and the Jedi Council. I suggest that you come with us; your witness would be of inestimable value."

"He's right." Adi concurred. "A native son of Apsolon will move the Senate to action more surely than any Jedi's outside report. Such is the lamentable state of affairs in the Galactic legislature."

Coori rubbed at a stitch in his side. "Leave Apsolon? And the resistance?"

Adi dropped to one knee beside him. "Montaag and his people are entrenched in passivity. They wait for a redemption that will never come unless someone _acts_ to oppose the New Absolutes."

The medic pushed shakily to his feet, leaning on her shoulder for support with one hand, then shoving his optic enhancers up atop his wild tangle of hair. "And you Jedi will so act?"

The two Jedi masters exchanged a bitter, and meaningful, glance. The Republic would be slow to authorize interference in Apsolon's internal affairs, even in the face of evidence that the Chancellor's special ambassadors had been imprisoned and tortured. And the only penalty likely to be imposed would be that of trade sanctions, ineffective and potentially more alienating limitations imposed on a world already tied to outside corporate or crime interests. "Act" was precisely what they could not do, without violating the restrictive terms of their mandate, the ever-narrowing domain of the Order's prerogatives.

"I thought as much," Coori sighed, their unspoken misgivings clear to see. "You can rescue the Civilized, but not the Workers, eh? Not the ones who welcomed the tyranny with open arms."

Adi dipped her head. "No," she admitted, regretfully. "We are peacekeepers, not demagogues or revolutionaries." Her eyes rested on Qui-Gon, briefly, then returned to Coori's lined face. "Your best hope of freedom is to leave this world with us."

But the medic shook his head. "You are oath-sworn to your duty, and I to mine. I am the only trained healer the resistance has. They are all under _my_ protection, in a certain way. I cannot abandon them."

Qui-Gon bowed. "Then this is where we part ways. Our path takes us back to Eline and the Absolutes' headquarters, and then off-planet. Your help has been of great value to us, and we thank you humbly for it."

Coori's smile wavered, his watering eyes tracing over Adi's face in a final lingering farewell. When she made her formal bow, he reached out a hand to grasp her fingers and raised them to his lips.

"Good bye," the lanky man mumbled.

She gently extricated her hand and stood straight. 'May the Force be with you always."

They waited until he had disappeared into the protective shadows of the nearby university outbuildings, and then slipped into the gathering night again, prowling toward the memorial hill and its eerie colonnades of grief.

* * *

It was long past nightfall by the time the milling crowd of exiled nobles was ready to mobilize. Children sniffled and whined their discontent, chided by anxious parents; Gallion and the other councilmen hurried to and fro, taking a brief census and relaying the general marching orders; a few others distributed primitive glow-lamps and extra satchels for carrying those few goods they could strap to their persons.

"I wish we had a good pair of macro-nocs," Siri Tachi sighed, peering out over the ragged landscape below them, the textured collage of shadow and deepest night. "I can sense danger, but not where… or even of what kind."

"Droids," Obi-Wan concluded, grimly. "We _won't_ sense them at all. And they'll ambush the ranks from multiple vantage points if they get an opportunity. I've assigned an armed escort to every group of five… they know to spread out and move as stealthily as possible." An infant wailed in the dark. He grimaced. "Which isn't very."

Siri pulled the heavy fur cloak around her shoulders. "What if the freighter doesn't stop at the rendezvous? There's nothing keeping those cocky barves from flying straight out of the system. Why would they risk their lives for these people? I met them in the city… they don't care about anyone but themselves."

The same cynical notion had occurred to him. "Then we're walking into a death-trap," he replied. One laid inadvertently by their own masters. It was to be hoped that Qui-Gon's charisma held sufficient sway over their new and unlikely allies to ensure real cooperation with the plan. He remembered Jass now – and his only distinct impression was that the dark-haired youth was a smart mouth who had merited a swift punch in the face for his dishonorable and lewd remarks about Siri.

"What's biting you?"

"Nothing. Or rather – I'm wondering what will transpire if the droids intercept us in the valley leading to the meeting place. We can't fight through a wall of them and protect _all_ these people. We're going to lose lives."

Siri nodded glumly. "I know."

The wind rose cold and tugged at their cloaks. "Do you… do you ever wish things like this didn't rest on your shoulders?" Siri added, quietly.

Surprised, Obi-Wan turned to her, unable to make out her expression in the gloom. Her mental shields were impenetrable, invisible walls erected against prurient inquiry. "We were born to this," he replied.

"But do you never wonder why it has to be you? Other people, other beings – they have lives, Obi-Wan. Different, I mean. Normal lives, with… happiness. Without –" she gestured helplessly at the looming silhouettes of the trees, the flickering lamps of the Civilized, the stars above, the bitter air swirling about them. "-I don't know. All of this."

"Without the Force."

She exhaled shakily. "I know." Her head bowed, the hair ticked behind her ear sliding forward to brush against a high cheekbone. "It just… it hurts sometimes."

"I know." But what choice would they make differently? Neither would willingly renounce the Path.

"We're going to lose lives," she repeated, mouthing the syllables as though tasting bitterest rue. "I hate failing."

"I hate succeeding," he offered, in return. "When we found you and Master Gallia in the prison, there were men… we fought in the corridors, and I –"

"I know," she said, softly, moving closer. Their shoulders pressed together, a fortification against encroaching cold. Their hands brushed, and then clasped. "Earlier, when we were sparring – on the hill –"

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "It's my fault. I – I should not have-"

"No," Siri told him, firmly. "It's nothing. We are luminous beings, not this –"

"I don't want you to think that –"

"I don't," she hastened to reassure him. "It's all right. We're being silly."

"Yes."

They were. It was a silly, meaningless thing, a mere quirk of fallible and mortal flesh. Tonight, they would lose lives, possibly their own. The sky was an ominous blanket of dully reflected light, clouds heavy with unshed snow, funerary tears still held in check.

"It's _so_ cold."

"I know."

Siri shuddered. "There is no death," she recited, head held high, voice determinedly steady.

"There is only the Force." He looked out over the open grave below them, the expanse of empty rock and hill between their present shelter and the dubious safety of the promised freighter. The future held its tongue, betraying no secrets.

But the present moment stirred with a bittersweet yearning, a reluctant unveiling of simple truths. Siri slipped softly in front of him, his arms moving of their own accord to encircle her waist, their shivering bodies pressed close in the face of impossible odds. And there they stood, contemplating the heavy burden of responsibility, of honor, of sacrifice. The malicious night slunk about them, coiling in expectation. A chill breeze lifted Siri's pale hair, played it across his face in an ephemeral caress. He inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet incense of it – the Force laden with the scent of drifting mandrangea blossoms, of gentle sunlight, of a far kinder destiny.


	20. Chapter 20

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 20**

"We have a shadow," Obi-Wan whispered to Siri.

Ahead, a cluster of Civilized exiles labored up the incline, the pallid haloes cast by their glow-lamps sliding over the wind-stripped forest, tiny moons fleeting between the barren tree trunks.

Siri glanced over one shoulder. "Who's she supposed to be with?"

The small girl doggedly hounded their steps, stopping with wide eyes when they halted just in front of her. Her thumb slid out of its keeping place in her mouth, glistening in the dim illumination. "Go bed," she demanded.

"I don't – _you_ deal with this, Kenobi."

"What? I'm not _a crèche-master_." He eyed the girl's drool-smeared cheeks nervously, running a hand over his own grimy and ill-shaven face with a wry twist of the mouth.

Siri leaned closer, adamant. "Well, I – like the Force – am not a nursemaid, either. _You_ do the negotiating."

"Fine." He dropped to one knee before the toddler, wondering where in the blazes the child's parents were. Or whether she had any. Or what he was supposed to _say. _But how difficult could it be, really? He decided to channel some of Troon Palo's peerless wisdom, though he would probably do well not to imitate his own beloved hirsute clanmaster's stentorian tones. "We want to sleep, too," he quietly assured the sulking youngster. "The faster we finish this hike, the sooner you can rest."

The girl blinked at him, then plopped down on the unforgiving earth, yawning widely.

"Well, that was good," Siri hissed sarcastically. "Tell her we need to keep moving – there's no time for mutiny in the ranks." She tapped fingers impatiently against the saber hilt at her side. "Can't you use a _mind trick?"_

He frowned, mutiny spreading contagiously from the ranks to the first mate. Extending one hand, he cautiously brushed fingers against the child's temples, exerting the Force's subtle and suggestive influence.

The girl scrambled upright, bouncing on the balls of her small feet and holding out two wet hands to Siri in an infantile demand to be carried. "Up! Up!"

"Problem solved," Obi-Wan shot over his shoulder, pressing on into the night behind the fleeing Civilized, leaving his companion to hoist the obstreperous toddler into her own arms and follow grumpily in his tracks.

* * *

The glimmering specters of the dead twisted silently in their glass tombs, ghostly faces watching in appalled silence as their living counterparts stalked among the rigid columns, flitting between blue shadows as the security guardsmen pursued, a stealthy game of hide and seek played in a vertical graveyard.

The eyes of the dead remained wide and staring as the first man went down, disappearing behind a pillar of translucent blue without a sound. His companion yelped in dismay, slewed round in a panic and cast the beam of his phospho-torch down the grieving colonnade, the dead's memorial images rising like a phalanx of accusing fingers in the lamps' bright glow. Among the slain, there lurked a nameless menace, the hand of fate waiting to snatch the unwary. His hand went, shaking, to his blaster. He turned again, and again, panic multiplying the legion of shimmering faces into a nightmarish host of the undead, an army of the damned.

"Help!" he squeaked – and then he too fell silent, his unconscious form dragged and dumped beside that of his confederate.

A few minutes later, a new pair of night guards appeared below the perimeter of the memorial hill – ones whose uniforms were ill-fitting, though they bore the proud insignia of the Absolutes upon their sleeves and caps. Adi Gallia had been obliged to roll up the sleeves of her jacket, while Qui-Gon's would not fasten properly over his broad chest. The two Jedi shrugged and shifted uncomfortably in the borrowed garments, heading at a brisk clip for the Museum entrance, pass keys in hand.

"This is how Obi-Wan and I accessed the sublevels before," the tall man informed his partner. "Unless you know of a more direct route."

Adi's face darkened with memory. "My Padawan and I ambushed and assaulted with toxic darts containing neuro-inhibitors," she said, flatly. "I don't recall _anything_ about our arrival in their dungeons."

He nodded grimly. Such expert technique bespoke a cunning familiarity with methods of subduing a Force-user, and suggested once again the presence of a darker shadow operating behind the scenes in Apsolis. "This way."

The lift brought them to the basement levels without a glitch. Two pairs of sentinels let them pass without question, their uniforms and a judicious application of mind influence smoothing the intruders' paths. Their steps brought them to the prison corridors without meeting significant resistance.

"Here," Qui-Gon said, waving open a locked door at the passage's far end.

Four uniformed men jumped form their seats, sabaac cards scattering to the floor.

Adi stormed in, contempt etched in her very posture. "Gambling on duty?" she snarled. "Wait until Naata hears about this."

The offenders broke into a cacophonous medley of excuses and objections.

"Get back to your posts immediately!" the Jedi master barked, voice weighted with deep authority. The miscreants fled, casting fearful glances at the Tholothian woman as they spilled back into the outside passage.

Qui-Gon sealed the door behind them. "Impressive," he remarked. "Who is Naata?"

"The head of Eline's secret police. They live in fear of her, and the commanding officers are changed so frequently they have no idea who is legitimate or not. Quick – here's the safe box."

Qui-Gon's saber made short work of the reinforced paneling. Adi plunged a hand into the dark recesses, withdrawing her own weapon and that of her Padawan.

"Ah," she growled. "_Now_ we are ready to handle this situation." She clipped both lightsabers at her belt, eyes glinting with a banked fire.

"Besides Naata, whom else must we watch for?" Qui-Gon asked, searching through the prison databanks. "There are no other political prisoners currently being held," he added. "Only a long list of scheduled _remediation _ sessions in the Annex."

Adi's mouth twisted. "The conditioning operation is headed by a Sith-spawned _pizzmah_ called Orissk." Her hand clenched about her weapon's hilt. "By my oath, Jinn, if we encounter him, _you_ are to act - for I do not trust myself."

The tall man was no fool; in the shocking profanity and the declaration of _emotional_ investment, he recognized the signs of a fellow pushed to the far extremity of Jedi patience. And he knew instantly, without being told, what perfidy the man called Orissk had committed.

Adi held his gaze, unapologetic, a cold fire kindling behind her luminous eyes. "You will know him by the acid scars and optic implants. It would be best we do not cross paths again."

And she led the way out, invisible thunder rolling in her wake.

* * *

" We're nearly there," Siri grunted, ploughing steadily onward with the drowsy youngling still clinging to her neck.

Obi-Wan stopped dead in his tracks.

"What-? Oh no." Siri dropped the child abruptly to her feet, the swooping motion jolting the poor girl fully awake. "Hide, hide here, under this root. Quick, we need to-"

But he was already sprinting back uphill, toward the source of the disturbance, toward the threat which even now hovered over the hill's crest, homing in on them.

"No- over here!" Siri shouted, doubling around a massive boulder.

But she was wrong – there were _two_ droids, and – Obi-Wan sprang clear of the first shot, changing direction again, back toward the trail and the youngling_. To the hells_ with the droids' invisibility in the Force, the dark, the slippery terrain, his lack of a proper weapon, the entire _blasted _situation.

Where was Siri? _For the love of –_

He ducked, slewing about to find the origin of the shot. Splintered rock spurted fountain-like behind him, perilously close to the root ball where the youngling crouched.

He spun, the droid's carapace faintly gleaming in the shadows, its humming repulsors giving away its position, and -

He saw it before it happened. The small girl, panic-stricken, darted from her place of concealment, driven by sheerest terror; the droid's targeting light shifted, the canon pivoting round to lock on the new and vulnerable prey; Obi-Wan was already moving, leaping through the fire-riddled air to intercept the blast, Force-enhanced instinct and rigorous training guiding his weapon, pulling his body through a spiralling backflip as he arced clear over the line of fire, blade sweeping downward to catch the deadly projectile in mid-flight, timing and motion flawless, impossibly perfect-

-Except, of course, that his weapon was not a 'saber but a crude staff of wood.

He caught the murderous blaster bolt squarely, the staff exploding in his hands, splintered wood shattering in a fiery cloud, the packet of energy traveling straight through the flimsy barrier into the young Jedi's left shoulder, slewing him about in mid-air and bringing him crashing belly-first upon the hard earth, wind knocked clean out of his lungs.

The girl screamed, and skittered in the opposite direction, a second shot missing her by a hairs-breadth.

Obi-Wan clutched at his wound, a hoarse cry escaping his throat as he rolled sharply to the right, escaping the next blast aimed at him. Pain erupted along his side and back, stabbed into his chest. He flung out a hand, wildly channeling the Force, a sloppy burst of power that sent his foe and a barrage of small rocks and sticks sailing backward into the nearest trees.

The Civilized continued to run; somebody swept the frantic child into his arms and pounded down the slope; the droid recovered its balance and hurtled forward, targeting lights blinking in a manic staccato.

The Padawan sprang away from the next shot, his landing jolting the injured muscles so badly that his vision swam. Loose stones and frost slicked leaves slid treacherously beneath his feet as his hand sought desperately for the cable launcher at his belt. Another blast, and he was somersaulting away, full weight slamming into the wrecked shoulder. He ended on his back, shouting his strident objections into the battle-wracked Force.

Cable launcher. His right hand closed about it. The droid zigged and zagged between the trees, relentless. He closed his eyes, shot the razor-thin cord at the mechanical killer, heard the whine of its cannon reloading, heard the clack of the grappling end hit its carapace and connect with a dangling extremity, and _rolled_ away from the blast even as he hauled the line in, screaming with effort, renewed fire blazing along every nerve in his arm and back.

The droid slammed into a tree trunk, floundering in the taut cable, and fired off three more shots in frenetic succession, overloading its shields and managing to send heavy branches plummeting to the ground trailing comet-tails of fire.

A blue saber blade thrummed hot in the wild blur of shots and falling leaves; the droid fell to the earth, severed in two.

Siri reached him a second later, free hand fisting in his tunic even as he rolled into a convulsive ball, teeth gritted against the waves of searing agony. "Kenobi- come on, get up, get _up, _ for Force's sake – there's another –'

She sprang to her feet, his blade howling about her as she batted away another flurry of shots, shielding him with his own weapon, her feet to planted either side of him as the second assailant descended upon them in a fury. Death rained down on them, strafing fire like hellish meteors plunging to earth around them. Siri withstood the assault, 'saber singing in the cold air –

-and a ponderous stone crashed heavily into the shrieking droid, flattening it to a sparking scrap pile.

Obi-Wan rolled onto his back, exhausted, the last effort wringing him utterly dry.

"Good one," Siri exclaimed, dropping to one knee. The 'saber blade disappeared into its hilt. "Come on, let's…oh, _fierfek."_ Her fingers prodded at the burned edges of his tunic, pushed against him, skimmed over his blood soaked back. "Oh, that's not good. Sit up. You have to sit. Come on."

He gasped as she pulled him halfway upright. "_Sith-spit—_ah… _Siri, _I - blast it!" He panted, tugging at his tabards with the good arm. "Here _–ah - _ make… a sling."

She fumbled with the stretch of dirty cloth, wrapping it about the damaged arm, eliciting another choice curse. "Where did you learn _that_ one?" she demanded, grimacing over the messy blaster burn. "That bolt's gone clean _through- _it hit your shoulder blade, too – you're lucky it didn't graze your spine."

He permitted himself to be pulled to his feet.

"We have to keep moving. There will be more… we have to beat them to the rendezvous."

He nodded, pain momentarily threatening to spin him into a dizzy blackness. Inhale. Draw in strength. Exhale. Release the agony, the animal fear. In. The Force. Out. Weakness.

Siri had him stumbling along beside her, his steps carried on the cresting wave of her determination, her stubborn will sufficient to support the two of them for a short while – or perhaps that was him, for as they slipped and skidded down the final slope, he was leading the way, tugging her along behind him with his free hand, her exhaustion a leaden weight settling in both their limbs, his pain a whip scourging them both onward, relentless. They reached the bottom of the incline together, collapsing in a panting huddle, grasping at each other's arms, heads bowing together until their foreheads touched, two bramble-knotted braids dangling between them.

They looked out over the open plateau.

There sat the hulking Telosian freighter, their promised salvation, gleaming under the sickly moons.

And surrounding it on all sides, a legion of mindless killer droids sitting in smug assurance of victory, a merciless deathblow struck to their faltering hope.


	21. Chapter 21

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 21**

Gallion stared at them, grey eyes and lined face conveying a darkling suspicion of treachery.

"So you have led us to the slaughter," he growled, turning angrily upon Obi-Wan. "You are indeed your master's devoted whelp."

The Padawan's hackles rose, but when he spoke it was with perfect composure. "Your people would have been massacred had you _stayed,"_ he reasoned with the agitated leader of the Civilized. "That freighter represents your sole chance of survival. And we will do all in our power to see that you reach it in safety." His eyes flicked toward Siri. "Padawan Tachi will accompany you around the ridge to the northwest-" he pointed –"while I remain here to create a distraction in the valley. I can draw off the majority of the droids, giving you enough time to descend the far slope and board the ship. Tell the pilots to take off as soon as your people are safely within."

"What?" Siri stepped between them. "I don't think so. You're _wounded –_ there is no way you can manage that without help. And Gallion is more than capable of leading his own people along that ridge."

The fur-robed man grunted his agreement, surveying them with a renewed respect. "I regret my harsh words," he said, at last. "This service I will accept, on behalf of the Civilized, as payment for past injustice inflicted upon us by your Order. That debt I will hold paid in full."

The two young apprentices bowed, watching him stalk back up the slope to order a strategic retreat to higher ground, out of the waiting droids' scanner range. His speckled cape of ferrmi pelt melted into the trees' mottled shadows, the darkness swiftly swallowing him up.

They stood awhile in silence, the weight of their mutual promise rooting them to the spot. "You just volunteered to die for that pompous barve," Siri whispered.

"For six hundred lives. For Qui-Gon," he protested. Night moths fluttered about them, faintly luminescent. "I don't know what else to _do." And you decided to stay with me,_ he added, aching heart skipping a beat.

"Hope for a miracle," Siri suggested.

But the Force was never a nursemaid and they both knew it.

"We need to rest," she sighed, at long last, peering up the rocky incline. At the summit, they knew, the Civilized would be pitching a morose camp, taking shelter for the last few hours of night. "Can you …I mean, we should be there. To protect them. Just in case."

He nodded, the thought of hiking back up the slope suddenly overwhelming, far more burdensome than facing off against an army of automated killers at dawn. He leaned heavily against the nearest tree, his injury stabbing mercilessly beneath his pulse, an unexpected burn prickling in the corners of his eyes.

"Come on," Siri gently cajoled. "I need your help."

They labored their way up the steep path, hand in hand.

* * *

"Perimeter sensors," Adi breathed. "Motion triggered, superoptic wave frequency, remote control source."

The two Jedi masters crouched lower, as the next security patrol droid hummed overhead.

Qui-Gon pointed to the shielded gates. "The sensors and the doors are powered by the subgenerator on the roof."

"Which we can't reach without crossing the perimeter," his companion sighed. "This is not going to be easy."

The tall man quirked a brow. "You mean it's not going to _quiet," _he corrected her.

The Tholothian Jedi's features hardened, a tiny glint of amusement in the Force betraying her outward gravity. "Your reputation is well deserved, Jinn. I hope you're as good a swordsman as they say."

His grey eyes slid sideways. "You saw my Padawan in the last tournament … and I taught him everything he knows."

Adi snorted softly. "I'll stay well behind you lest I end decapitated by a showy flourish."

"I didn't teach him _that,"_ Qui-Gon conceded.

The patrol buzzed by again on its next circuit. The ensuing silence lasted three heartbeats before the pair sprang into action.

No sooner had their flying feet crossed the invisible boundary-line, than a piercing siren split the night. Flood illuminators spilled over the courtyard outside the government center, and the rumble of reinforcement droids echoed against the chipped granite walls of the building façade.

"Destroyers!" Adi barked, two 'saber blades leaping to life in her hands as she covered Qui-Gon's back. He shot a cable high into the air, sending the line sailing over the rooftop to grapple on a protruding bracket. The spindly droids rolled to a halt and uncurled in a deadly snap, deploying heavy cannon arms and letting loose a volley of destructive blasts. Adi moved in a tight defensive circle, both weapons howling and spinning as she batted away the continuous assault. "Qui-Gon!"

He pulled the cable tight, spun on his heel and thrust one hand outward, a wave of explosive energy knocking the first row of attackers backward into the next. Plasma bolts criss-crossed the skies, cybernetic bleeps and wails screeching harsh against their ears. "You first!"

Adi swung up on the cable, making the ascent in three bounds, laser fire nipping at her heels as she rose. She flipped over the parapet and reeled in the cable, firing the grappling end back down into the pocked pavement where Qui-Gon stood at bay inside a circle of a dozen swarming droidekas. From this vantage point his 'saber seemed to weave an erratic orbit about some dark sun, a line of deadly green light leaving a trail of broken comets and sparking asteroids in its wake. Severed appendages and melted plating spun and skittered over the wide courtyard, the dervish-whirl of the Jedi master carrying the merciless attack in a wide ellipse, an aggressive counter-motion to the killers' own programmed tactics.

She narrowed her eyes, willing him to _pay attention_ and make his escape. And finally, after one last flying backflip that took off two droids' cannon in one fell swoop, he surfaced from his battle-tight focus long enough to notice the cable.

He grasped the end of the line, and she pulled it in, his leap and the launcher's powerful micro-engine bringing him soaring over the ledge to land beside her in a deep crouch, weapon still humming fiercely in his hand.

"_Ataru_," Adi snorted, with mild disdain.

Her colleague only smiled benignly, his blade snapping back into its hilt. "Let's go."

They wrenched the rooftop maintenance hatch open with a combined Force push, and descended into the cramped tunnel beyond, the full emergency alarm howling in the air and resounding through the building's rafters.

"So much for subtle," the Tholothian grumbled as they entered the shaft.

"I prefer the direct approach," Qui-Gon assured her.

* * *

Siri Tachi practically crawled into the flimsy tent provided for their use, and collapsed upon her side with a gasp.

"Siri." Obi-Wan followed, queasy and faint, his own head spinning from the long ascent and his throbbing injury. He sank to his knees beside her, touched her shoulder with his good hand. "Siri, please. Let me help."

She rolled over, skin a ghastly white, perspiration beading her forehead and dampening the strands of gold that pressed damply against one cheekbone. "Getting worse," she grunted. Moisture glossed her eyes, and she blinked it away, furiously. "_Damn _this entire planet."

He dared to press further. "We are facing a battle. I need you – _both_ of us need to be ready to fight."

She let her head loll backward, considering him from under half-closed eyelids. "You don't look so pretty yourself, Kenobi. We're in a proper mess."

"I know." He tucked his damaged arm closer to his ribs, the makeshift sling chafing against his neck and shoulder. The blaster burn throbbed sharply, protesting even the slight movement. "We both need healing."

Siri reached up, idly grasping the end of his braid. She softly wrapped it around her fingers, letting her eyes slide shut again.

He leaned closer. "Siri. Please."

She let go, her hand dropping to her side, brushing over his saber hilt before falling limply to the hard packed earth. A single tear trickled alongside her nose, tracing a path along cheek to jawline and then across her delicate throat. It landed in the dirt, squalid testament to her exhaustion.

"Can't we try … together?"

"I'm too tired," Siri whispered.

He levered himself down beside her, cautious of his ruined shoulder. One hand reached out to cover hers. "_There is no weariness in the Force," _ he murmured, shuddering with oncoming fever.

"…_The limit of our strength is but the shore of the infinite," _ she finished.

The moons' leering faces were extinguished behind the mountain's high ramparts; the translucent woven walls of their pitiable shelter fading to a sudden opacity. They were weary, weak, defeated already.

He hated _giving up._ Defiance remained, waving a tattered pennant of hope. "Yes?"

Siri nodded, the tiniest seed of hope and the last inextinguishable ember of her fiery will triumphing briefly over nebulous despair. "All right," she agreed, voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Yes."

The earth beneath them was ice-cold, but the Force wove however briefly an ephemeral circle of warmth, a surrounding veil, as they closed their eyes, sinking mutually into its welcoming embrace.

Siri reached out tentatively and found the place on his shoulder where the droid's blaster fire had ripped and burned its way through muscle and ligament, searing nerve and bone, blistering skin, reducing cloth to blackened fiber. Her fingers spread over the injury, brushing gently as a moth. Obi-Wan still hissed a little, tensing and then relaxing, letting down mental shields one cautious notch at a time.

Siri pressed against his inward soul, the Force shimmering slightly, her control imperfect. He winced, exhaled slowly, lowered his natural defenses a trifle further, reaching for the healing power of the Light, imagining that she held it out to him, steadily, carefully, with compassion.

The Light, wholeness, strength… Siri's mental touch was blunt, earnest yet painful, raking over deep scars. He heard himself make a strange guttural noise, a pang of distress throttled before it could become an audible cry – strange emotions, buried anxieties, reared their heads and then subsided, past memories appeared as flimsy mirages in the rippled pool of awareness. A sense of apology, of surprise, of embarrassment; the Light wavered, withdrawing even as Siri's doubts weakened her focus.

"No, no- it's all right," he assured her, startled by the raw quality of his own voice. He reached out his own hand, spreading the fingers gently over her belly, the subtle upward sweep of a hipbone beneath his hand, the suggestion of soft skin below the familiar weave of cloth. Illness festered within, injury wrought with deliberate cruelty. The Light gathered, tentative, waiting an invitation to pour its invisible salve into deepest wounds.

Siri hesitated, poised over an infinite drop, a chasm spanned by the narrowest bridge of trust. The Light expanded, diffuse, unfocused, no longer marshaled to a single purpose. "I – I don't know if I can – I'm sorry."

They stood at an impasse, separated by a single infinite step.

"You can." He saw it, though she did not; beneath the Jedi there was a woman; and beneath the woman, more hidden still, there burned a luminous spirit, a beauty which no insult to body or mind could sully, a courage hammered to exquisite purity on the anvil of destiny.

Siri tensed, drawing in a shuddering breath. She lowered her guard, another mental shield dropping away to reveal an aching betrayal. And then she spoke, deepest pain spilling at last over weakening barriers.

"You…You didn't come when I called for you."

His heart bled with it. "I know. I wanted to – I.. Siri, I .." He choked on the words, on the futile apology.

Her hand moved to his face, wiping at his cheek, smoothing the salty trail of regret into a caress, a gentle finger stroking along his softly fringed jaw. On a deep breath, they flattened their defenses yet further, emotion and thought seeping, permeable, between them.

Siri's voice grew husky. "It was… I used to dream… it was supposed to be _you_. Not like that. Never like that. And now…. "

They had lost that which they had never yet had, a paradox embittered by cold irony.

"We are Jedi." They could not afford to mourn.

She swallowed, blinking away her own regrets, the truth a cold consolation sweeping all grief before the driving wind of duty. Scoured even of melancholy, their inner horizons loomed bleakly, barren as the winter skies outside their frail shelter.

Misery drew them together, closer to the edge of an abyss.

Silence. A vast, sounding note in the Force's tympanum, a bell-tone sweet like falling blossoms, a dizzy entrancing mandate to _release__._

Siri waited upon him, poised yet watchful, the question unspoken in her eyes.

_Let go. Let go._

Obi-Wan leapt from the heights first, throwing himself over the brink into gracious surrender. Siri, not to be outdone, followed him headlong over the edge of absolute trust.

And they fell, hands barely touching the other, yet souls entwined. He opened himself to the effulgent Force and to Siri at once, the sudden influx of Light dizzying, his spirit abruptly saturated with living power, with the touch of another's mind, with the torrent of her anguish, with the spreading flood of limitless peace, with her, with it, the Living Force, Light shining in a single lantern, overflowing the whole universe, burning in her tears, in his shoulder, in the stars and suns and countless moons, in two sapphire stars set in a pale moon, crowned with a pale gold corona like the sun, and then spilling over limitlessly from him back into her, until they were twin basins brimming with liquid radiance, awash in the eternal fountain of Life.

"Siri…" It wasn't healing, exactly – at least, he wasn't sure – but…

"Obi-Wan."

There was nothing to say, no language competent to encompass the giddy unmooring of self into other, no word sufficient but the mere exchange of names.

In the Force, in each other, there was no need. And no time. And no self, or passion, or ignorance, or death.

And when time and location, identity and memory once more took up their rightful places, their wonted thrones, Siri Tachi was in his arms, and he also somehow in hers. His shoulder still throbbed with insistent pain, and yet it was more tolerable. Grime and dirt were crusted in Siri's hair, and yet the outward dross signified nothing. Cruelty lay behind them, destruction ahead, and yet the moment rested tranquil in its own perfection. Fever crawled in both their veins, and yet their heartbeats sang a defiant martial rhythm in unison, one against the other, as they nestled close as a pair of thranctills, completely motionless as they fell through inner heaven in an endless soaring dive, into new and uncharted realms.

And though they were blanketed in nothing but their torn and filthy garments, and the frigid night, they slept deeply and well.


	22. Chapter 22

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 22.**

Pain woke him, a rude jolting from obliterating sleep into a reality rendered in sharp chiaroscuro – a charcoal smudging of fire along the edges of his every nerve, a bright white-gold tangle of starlight spilled over his chest and face, Siri's breath fluttering one bright celestial strand as she slept curled tight against him.

It was… odd. Novel, but… good. Completely … forbidden?

The niggling scruple joined the shadows of insistent pain, and was conjoined a moment later to another black thought: droids, the freighter, a desperate gambit to protect the evacuees. Duty marshaled these three forces to a single purpose, an alarm rousing him to action despite the cold, the pounding headache, the seductive temptation to remain _here, _with _her, _ until exhaustion and icy numbness carried them both away into the Force itself.

"Siri. Wake up. Siri."

But such pleas fell on deaf ears. She merely snugged closer against him, jostling his damaged shoulder badly. He hissed and breathed out the resultant flare of agony, more wakeful than ever. "_Siri."_

In the natural order of things, this would be the juncture at which Qui-Gon – peerless example of patient forbearance, even among Jedi masters - would have Force-yanked the blankets, or possibly his laggardly apprentice, clean off the sleep couch onto the unforgiving floor. But Obi-Wan's intuition supplied that such a direct approach would constitute a diplomatic error or possibly even a personal insult to his fair companion. Besides, they were already on the ground – and hadn't a scrap of covers but their dirt-crusted clothing.

Outside, the first rustlings and stirrings of the Civilized camp heralded the day's true beginning. The time had come.

He buried his face in the fountain of pale gold, drinking deep of the last forbidden dregs of peace. There was a place, just _there_, a warm hollow where her jaw met her ear, a tiny dip in the pale ivory column of her neck, which he had so often, for so long, yearned to _touch –_

His feather-light salutation startled her awake.

"_Stop it,_ you chosski – stop! Your _beard _ is tickling me!" And then, full cognizance of their proximity, of the night's revelations, of the unlikely, impossible utterance that had just escaped her lips, she rolled abruptly away, face flushed to lovely pink, blue eyes wide with a shock far surpassing mere mortification.

He rubbed a hand across his prickling stubble. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, you are," Siri snapped…. but there was no bite in the words. They paused, then looked down, then at the tent's flapping closure, then down again, and finally back at each other.

He inhaled deeply, floundering even in the Force's sea… and then grasped a drifting splinter of humor, a safe buoy to keep them afloat. "There's no breakfast," he remarked, lightly. "But you can have first turn in the 'fresher." He nodded his head toward the outside world, the cold grey light of dawn leaking beneath the shelter's fragile walls.

"Nice." Siri stood, stiffly, adjusting the 'saber hilt that still hung at her side. She looked down at him, the faint smile sliding off her face. "Are you – do you feel _any _ better?"

He cleared his throat. "Ah… No. Not really." A wry grimace as he experimentally prodded at his shoulder. "I'm sorry to say."

She worried at her lower lip. "So you're planning to hold off a whole army of droids one-handed?"

He clambered to his own feet, with only a small grunt of discomfort. "It's only fair… to even the odds on the playing field."

They both forced a smile, a mutual airing of bravado in the face of crushing certainties. Outside, men hollered and children whined. Tents were rudely deconstructed, fires stamped out.

"It's time."

He drew in a deep steadying breath, centering his focus in the present moment, and not in the numbers of foes waiting for them below. "Siri?"

She paused in the threshold, one hand extended to push the flap open.

"Thank you … for staying with me today." _Dying with me today._

Her eyes traced over his face, lingering with melancholy care upon each detail. "You can't have _all_ the glory, Kenobi."

And they exited together, side by side.

* * *

The ceiling splintered into a network of molten lines, and then collapsed in a white rainfall of plastoid and smoldering insulation, the gaping hole widening abruptly to a chasm and then dropping two lithe figures upon the polished floor. The droid security units swiveled and opened fire without hesitation, but their shots were deflected, ricocheting into the far walls of the intelligence bureau's control room. Their heads followed soon after.

Adi spun and halved the last remaining sentinel with a backhanded sweep of her shorter blade. "You missed one, Jinn."

Qui-Gon raised a brow. "A bad habit. My Padawan feels slighted if I don't leave at least one for him."

Adi kicked aside some of the fallen insulation and tile. "Do you conduct all your assignments in this cavalier fashion?" she inquired, the implied censure alleviated by a lurking smile.

"Only the ones the council knows about," he quipped back, smirking slightly at the tiny frown this elicited.

"Here." Adi located the database mainframe and set about carving through the access panel. "This should contain all that we need – their contacts, records of exchange, prisoner interrogations, internal affairs."

"There's no time for an extended download," Qui-Gon reminded her, sinking his 'saber into the door controls and ripping the surveillance camera out of its socket with a deft application of the Force.

"We'll just take the core memory matrix," the Tholothian grunted, reaching an arm into the computer's innards to remove the delicate synthetic crystal and its housing. "It will take a genius to bypass their encryption, but it's the best we can do in this situation." She shoved the precious object into a large belt pouch with a grim smile of satisfaction.

The doors blew open with a deafening crash, the acrid stink of explosives slamming against their senses. An armed detachment of sentient guards stormed through the gap, followed by a tall woman in the Absolutes' drab uniform.

"Kill both intruders," this person ordered, without hesitation.

The newcomers' weapons discharged not blaster bolts but thin, whistling flechettes. Adi ducked, spun, hissed her displeasure. "Toxic darts," she grunted, catching two on her spinning 'saber blades. "Watch out."

Qui-Gon did not need further cautioning; he leapt and danced among the deadly hail of poison darts, aware that this specialized weaponry had been the means of capturing the Jedi ambassadors in the forst place. But they were no longer off guard, unprepared. The Force churned into a tempest as the elite squadron swarmed into the small control chamber, pummeling the cornered trespassers with ceaseless fire while three bright blades howled and slashed.

Arms were parted from shoulders; men screamed; equipment was knocked over as bodies were thrown against consoles and computer banks.

In the end, only the snarling slant-eyed woman remained.

"_Naata_," Adi Gallia growled, her 'sabers echoing the note of pure loathing in her voice. Across the Force, a lightning flash of memory blazing through the Jedi master's tight mental shields, came the image of this sneering woman giving the fateful order to _bring the younger in one here… _

Qui-Gon's hand closed about his colleague's arm, support and restraint at once.

The leader of Apsolon's secret police force curled her lip. "You stupid Jedi _vetch_." She raised a hand, tossing a small sphere into the room even as she rolled backward through the broken doorway.

The Jedi jumped, the thermal detonator's blast radius melting the world to an instantaneous cataclysm, an obliterating wall of sound and fury. They tumbled, flew, spun – and landed roughly upon the ruined rooftop, debris falling like spears about them.

"The hangar bay," Qui-Gon ordered. "We've outstayed our welcome."

Adi groaned, rolling upright and staggering along beside him. "I couldn't agree more."

* * *

The valley narrowed to a jagged cleft between two leaning walls of tumbled rock. Here another stream swelled, a white and roiling tongue twisting along the tree-shaded floor. Green mottled light danced on the turbulent surface, mesmerizing. Small avians twittered and sang their canticles to the new dawn; the water played a ceaseless chime along its well-worn path.

It's… lovely," Siri breathed, pushing through the last undergrowth into the high-walled canyon. She shaded her eyes with one hand and peered upstream, where the slopes widened to a high plateau where the freighter – and their enemies- waited.

Obi-Wan's gaze traced along the upper ridge, the rampart behind which the straggling lines of Civilized even now must be creeping toward their destination by a circuitous and stealthy route. "They've been on the move for nearly an hour. We need to draw the droids downstream."

They stood on the river bank, scuffed boots squelching in the mud. "How? Shout _here we are, come get us?"_

"Nothing so subtle, " Obi-Wan replied, a glint in his eyes. He squinted in the bright light spilling over the eastern ridge. "We need to kick up a _ruckus."_

Siri's face was aglow with light, the rising sun breaking over the stone parapet behind, a blinding nimbus resting crown-like upon her tangled hair. She withstood his silent admiration for a space of four breaths, and then abruptly broke the spell with a derisive snort. "That's more in your line," she said.

"Then give me the 'saber."

He flipped the weapon's hilt over in his hand once and led the way deeper into the narrow pass, tramping through thick brush and wilted foliage. Siri trailed behind, pushing dangling boughs and dead wood aside. "It must be late winter here. All this vegetation is dead and dry."

"Exactly." The 'saber's blade leapt from its hilt, the sharp snap-hiss eliciting a medley of screams and shrieks from the treetops' denizens. He knelt before a knotted root-ball and held the pulsing line of arc-wave plasma close to the dried kindling at its base. A thin trickle of blue smoke rose in the chill air, and then a thick and choking ribbon. Tiny flames stirred in the heart of the twisted wood, embers flared and spun, and then claws of fire began shredding at the roots' extremities. The Padawan deactivated his weapon and blew on the smoldering fire, shying away when a flurry of sparks exploded upon the makeshift hearth, flying into his face and clinging to his bristled hair.

Siri, smothering a laugh, brushed a hand over his head and smothered an ember burning bright in his dangling braid. "You almost lost few years' work right there," she teased, twisting the singed plait between her fingers.

They hastily scrambled back as the fire roared into full vigor, greedily devouring the roots and then the lowest boughs, licking at the gnarled trunk and leaping, frantic, to higher branches and then the barren tips of neighboring limbs.

"The water – quick." As one they bounded over the stream's expanse, landing on a low island of boulders in mid-current. On both sides of their fast-flowing refuge, the results of Obi-Wan's arson spread, filling the canyon with smoke and leaping flame from one high wall to the other. Winged things rose in great flocks, screaming their terror into the turgid air; other beatss appeared from nest and burrow, dashing headlong up the valley in headlong panic, their wild instinctive fear setting the Force alight.

"You certainly know how to get attention, Kenobi!" Siri shouted over the uproar.

He grinned, coughing a bit on the thick, ash-laden air, then held out his 'saber hilt to her. "Here – take this back-"

But she refused. "No. It should be in the hands of the better fighter, like you said." She pressed her back against his, every sense stretched taut for sign of the approaching droids. A distant note of approaching danger slowly intensified to a soundlessly piercing wail, a bodiless ululation echoing in the Force and in their bones. "They're coming."

The droids, drawn by sound and motion, appeared as specks in the distant gloom, steadily drawing nigh. A few stampeding _yarrix_ fell in the first line of fire, their horned heads jerking in midair as the heavy cannon blasts mowed them down. The Force sparked with extinguished life, raking over the Padawans' skin as a cold chill. Obi-Wan swung his saber wide in a needless flourish, tucking his left arm in close and blinking through smoke-blurred eyes. Siri's back pressed close to his, a reassuring warmth. Already a boulder or two along the banks rolled forward into a quickly amassing pile of ammunition, propelled by an invisible hand. His chest swelled with a strange and melting warmth…. They would go down _fighting._ Hard. Fearlessly. Together.

Their enemies swooped closer, closer… avians and small animals fell to indiscriminate blaster fire, a heedless, careless destruction hovering up the river in the tens, in the scores…

"Stars' end," Siri grunted, lifting the first of her projectiles into the air with a wave of the hand. The Force rose like a flood, suffusing them both, an inward fire to match the inferno raging along both shores. The blue saber blade growled low, eager for battle, steadfast in purpose, focused to a blazing intensity.

And the foremost line of droids descended upon them in a lethal wave.


	23. Chapter 23

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 23.**

The hangar bay doors still gaped wide, their edges reduced to molten swirls and jagged rents where the prior explosion had blown them apart.

Adi Gallia overrode the security lock on the shuttle's ignition circuits with her personal identicode and thumbprint, glancing out the viewport at the scene of devastation unfolding on the decks below. Qui-Gon's propensity for wreaking havoc was even greater than his reputation had suggested. A droid's head clattered against the double reinforced transparisteel, and rolled off the ship's hull. Shaking her head, the Tholothian Jedi master hit the ramp release.

A moment later her colleague came barreling into the cockpit, even as she lifted them off the deck and fired the drives.

"I destroyed the automated tracking cannon, but the energy dome will still be problematic," Qui-Gon informed her coolly, watching the orange glare of the protective bubble draw near.

Adi sucked in a sharp breath in constrenation. If the dome had been reverse polarized, then any vessel attempting to penetrate through the field from the inside would be utterly crippled. The proximity sensors blared a strident warning. "They've sent fighters to pursue us," she observed.

Qui-Gon pointed to the western edge of the city. "Go through the dome there – my ship is just beyond, where the rock formations form a valley."

The Tholothian braced herself and accelerated hard. They hurtled forward, blasting straight through the shimmering protective barrier. Behind them, their foes turned sharply and veered off, unwilling to risk a similar destructive encounter.

The Republic shuttle bucked violently, every system shorting out in a flare of white light. The shields exploded like summer lightning; the drives failed, the main power core pulsed and then overloaded, the coolant chambers imploding under pressure and trailing a toxic stream of gas and burning liquid as the ruined ship fell headlong toward the stony earth, completely unresponsive.

The two Jedi masters called upon the Force, every nerve straining to hold the falling mass steady as it ploughed into the unforgiving ground, squealing and shrieking a deep gouge into the cold soil of Apsolis, stopping less than ten meters from Qui-Gon's hidden transport. Adi carved through the hull to provide a quick escape passage, and they leapt from the corpse of the first ship into the shadow of the second.

"I hope you aren't teaching your Padawan such reckless piloting skills!" Adi snorted as they dashed up the ramp.

Her companion quirked a brow, sliding into the pilot's seat and bringing the vessel's systems online. "Obi-Wan is not particularly fond of flying."

Adi's eyebrows arched upward expressively. "I can see why not."

* * *

Deep in the Force, the world focused and refracted into four distinct spheres, concentric realms centered about a single desperate center. Outermost, sky and stars watched the seething tumult below with dispassionate tranquility, aloof spectators to the battleground below. Within this sphere was scribed another, this one of ravening fire; tongues reached heavenward, sparks and smoke ascending from the hecatomb of branches and dead bracken, a doubled army marching greedily up either bank of the small river, walls of flame circling an arena where destruction reined free. And within that arena there loomed mindless death, a flotilla of hovering machines designed and equipped for one purpose: that of killing. The droids circled like raptors, a tight hurricane of wrath winding ever tighter about a single point of siege, the very nexus of this fourfold cosmos. At the heart of the chaos a blue saber blade whirled and danced, furious sapphire light spitting equally bright defiance in the face of death and fire and the uncaring stars above.

Siri Tachi at his back, the Force _alight_ with wild color, with sound merging into pain, pain into power, into giddy ecstasy, Obi-Wan stood and fought for all he was worth, the feat something far surpassing any training exercise, even the fire-storm kata performed with eight separate remote attackers. Rocks flew upward, against gravity, against reason, hurtled by the Force toward their menacing targets; tree limbs fell burning from on high and were extinguished in the river's current amid great gouts of steam; blaster bolts drove inward from every direction, ceaseless and erratic. He was sure it was not his own hands wielding the 'saber as it swept round, continuously, a dizzying hurricane of light and howling sound. The Force itself held him in so inexorable a grip that his head spun, dizzy at the summit of an infinite drop, a plunge into infinite effulgence. One false move would send them both teetering over the brink of mortality into the Force's depths, and as the world spun out to a timeless moment, the Force raging in his blood higher and hotter than surrounding fire, he almost yearned to know that extinction, that moment of blissful annihilation …

"Kenobi!" A stray shot _did_ wing its way past his guard – past the wall of light – singeing his thigh, Siri's foot. Pain smeared into light, into motion, into his heaving breath, into the terrible pressure behind his temples, the one so perilously close to obliterating pleasure…

He closed his eyes, the world no longer existing outside the Force, the fire no longer roaring, the droids no longer separate things. Death was coming, coming… he reached for Siri, across the blazing ocean of Light, her mind nestled close to his as they teetered, as they wobbled, the deflected shots sometimes grazing past the blade, knifing along the very edge of an arm or an ear, the heat of the fire closing on around them like a smothering fist, the water nothing but glittering reflected crimson, shimmering gold, heat and smoke and death and-

The Force. The Force. There is no death –

_Obi-Wan._ Siri's voice, her thoughts, an aching regret –

Flames rose, the sky was blotted out by pillars of black ash, the screams of fleeing creatures, the hum of the droids, a deafening thrum louder than these all, the shrieking, whistling, pounding of blaster shots, more and more and more death death death coming coming-

_Siri- Siri, I –_

The world was consumed by sound, by shadow, by blasting columns of steam, of white ghostly cloud, deafening and blinding jets thrust down spearlike from above, a pillared battalion of frigid, scalding spray.

Siri's hand wrenched at his arm; the 'saber faltered; the droids were lost in a sea of surrounding white, in the bone-wracking throb of something _huge, awful –_

"The freighter!" Siri screamed in his ear. "Jump!"

They leapt, as one, up into impossible salvation, into a black hole gaping wide amid the clouds of freezing vapor, their boots connecting with the ridged mat of an open boarding ramp, their bodies rolling, sliding, hitting the bulkheads and skidding to a halt upon matted decking. The freighter hummed all around them, absurdity resolving into sense, the thunder throbbing in their skulls into the pulse of 500 mega-ton repulsors at close range, the inverted jets of white fire into a well-timed pressurized coolant release.

"Whoa!" A voice addressed them, a blurred figure materializing in silhouette against the drab ceiling panels. "You Jedi are kriffin' nuts!"

* * *

"They're not responding," Qui-Gon observed, tensely, toggling the com-sat transmit switch repeatedly.

"Perhaps they've already taken off," Adi Gallia suggested.

"No – I have a read on their location. They're still near the rendezvous. We should-"

A blast of red light skimmed past their starboard wing. The Jedi master rolled the shuttle in a tight spiral, narrowly avoiding a second shot aimed at their aft deflectors.

Adi gripped the armrests of her chair. "We have company. It must be Naata's elite forces. They have imported fighter craft – this ship is no match for them, either for speed or weaponry."

Qui-Gon dove, the shuttle rattling as he skimmed the stone-pocked plains below them. The ice-tipped mountains loomed in the distance. Plasma bolts whizzed around them, leaving a trail of craters in their wake.

"There's the freighter!" Adi pointed sharply out the forward viewport. A dark speck rose slowly on the horizon, just visible over the distant peaks.

Their vessel slewed to one side, then the other. Several shots glanced off their shields, jolting them repeatedly. Qui-Gon silently swerved and climbed, managing to loop over an oncoming enemy. The sleek fighter looked like a tisska-gnat, a gleaming spear of polished durasteel with bulbous wing nacelles.

"What is that?"

"Techno Union, newest design," Adi answered tightly. "They are _well_ funded here."

A fleet of similar vessels swooped overhead, outrunning them. She grabbed the edge of the forward console. "Quickly! They're headed for the freighter!"

They laid on speed, pursuing the hunters at maximum throttle, but the deadly light-weight ships far outpaced them, driving hard across the dusking sky toward the lumbering target, a swarm of bloodthirsty gnats headed for a helpless beast.

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth and uttered a Huttese curse. Adi, features drawn tight in wordless dread, pretended not to notice.

* * *

"And who in stars' name are _you?"_ Siri Tachi demanded, stalking behind the dark-haired youth as he led the way to the forward cockpit.

"Jass Caulff." The owner of this name offered her a cocky smile. "I hooked up with Master Jinn and Master Gallia in the city… they thought you might need some competent help. Looks like you did."

The freighter's bridge was bustling with Jass' unsavory associates.

"Hey! Yock! Meesha – get this piece of vaping junk outta atmosphere."

"Where are the Civilized?" Obi-Wan demanded. "You were to wait for them –"

Jass threw up his hands. "Easy, bro – we got all the stragglers on board – both cargo holds are full, okay? We are long gone – kriff Apsolon and everyone on it."

The ship lurched beneath them, sending one or two of Jass' cronies sliding out of their self-appointed stations.

"Do you even know how to fly this thing?" Obi-Wan growled, pushing through a knot of youths to lean over the forward console display. "_Sith-spit."_

Siri was at his side in an instant. "Not much fuel, life support already strained… we have to dump the shields."

"What? Aw, chisk. I'm gonna need a smokestick in a minute here."

Obi-Wan turned on their less-than-ideal ally. "We are grateful for your assistance, but it would be best if –"

"Hey! _I'm _ in charge," Jass asserted, chest puffing out. "Jinn put me at the head of this operation, and you already owe me your skins. So sit down, strap in , and shut up, Kanubi."

The freighter hiccupped and lurched again, losing fifty meters' altitude in a sickening plunge. Siri shoved Yock out of the pilot's seat and took control of the ponderous vessel's yoke. "_Both _ of you shut up - we need to get out of here."

"Hey – I saved you and put out the fire, too," Jass protested, plopping down in the co-pilot's chair. "You kinda owe me some respect." He studied her profile with an appreciative glint in his eye. "…Hey, uh, you Jedi together?"

Obi-Wan sat at the navcomp and hurriedly called up the hyperdrive computer. The rank _amateurs _ hadn't even thought to prime the jump sequencing system… "Obviously we are together," he groused, attention absorbed in his task.

"Yeah?" Jass folded his arms. "Like t_ogether_ together? I mean, I thought all you Jedi guys were , uh, _you know, _monks or somethin'_?_"

Obi-Wan clenched hsi jaw shut in a supreme act of self control, but Siri tilted her head toward Jass and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. "Don't get your hopes up - you're not his type."

Jass snapped his mouth shut and the ship rattled violently as they hit turbulence in the upper atmosphere, the drives whining in protest.

"Don't look now," Obi-Wan grumbled, "But we're being pursued."

Siri looked anyway, back stiffening as she glanced at the proximity sensor display. "Oh, Hells," she gritted out, laying on speed and running hard for open space.

"Holy chiiiiiissk," Jass moaned. "Now I really need a kriffing smokestick."


	24. Chapter 24

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 24**

The freighter bumped and rattled its way through the upper atmosphere, bright ion trails flaring along the viewport's outer edges, a blinding nimbus of heat as they ploughed through the ionosphere into the outer limits of Apsolon's gravity well.

"Hull's melting," Siri observed dispassionately.

"Then it's melted," Obi-Wan responded, tightly. They needed the extra power diverted to life support for the over-packed cargo holds. There was absolutely no acceptable alternative. He could feel the contained panic of the Civilized like a crawling itch, an omnipresent ache in the living Force. Their jouncing and turbulent ascent must have set the poor refugees into a state of near-apoplexy – but there was nothing he could do to remedy that state of affairs.

Not with enemy fighters on their tail.

Frantically – without _appearing_ frantic, for he was keenly aware of Jass' awed gaze resting on his back – Obi-Wan punched the final jump coordinates into the navcomp and waited for the clear signal. Siri tore along an elliptical arc toward the nearest moon, eyes flitting to the proximity sensors every few seconds.

"There's another ship now – _Republic_ transponder," she gasped. "Our masters!"

Qui-Gon. Adi Gallia. Coming after them. They had a chance. "Don't we have any weapons?" If they could just hold off attack until they left realspace, if they could just _escape_ the system without getting blown to smithereens…

"Sorry," Jass mumbled. "Yock vaped the turbocannon when we landed. We never flown anything this big before – got some of the controls mixed up…"

"Hey! It's not my fault!" Yock hollered from across the bridge.

"Shut up, Yock!" came a chorus of shouts.

"Right. No weapons," Siri Tachi grumbled. "And even less brains. They make you look better and better , Kenobi."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" one of the ruffians demanded, eerily echoing Obi-Wan's own private thought.

"Aw, _miiiishka,"_ Jass spat out, as the first streaks of red plasma winged past the viewport, barely missing them.

Obi-Wan stifled a loud hiss of pain, tucking his injured arm close against his chest as the entire freighter jerked forward, a barrage of shots slamming into their rear deflectors. Lights flashed on every console, alarms bleeped in distress.

"We need to _jump," _Siri growled. "_Now!"_

"I can't _make_ the computer move any faster!" Obi-Wan protested, danger screaming in his own veins, their escape a rapidly narrowing gap, a dwindling speck just ahead…. Almost there…

"So _negotiate _with it," she snarled at him, grabbing the edge of the console as a second jolt reverberated through the entire hull.

"I –" But it didn't matter; the display finally signaled green, and he slammed the hyperdrive accelerator forward, sending them into a stomach-wrenching dive past the borders of lightspeed, into the dizzying netherworld of hyperspace.

And their pursuers were left empty-handed.

* * *

The hulking freighter disappeared in the blink of an eye, the last swarm of deadly projectiles flying harmlessly into space, the sleek fighters overshooting the empty place where the massive object had been but a half-second before.

"They've made it," Adi Gallia breathed, closing her eyes as she slumped back in the co-pilot's chair.

Qui-Gon permitted himself a brief but intense flare of pride. The Padawans had, indeed, pulled off an impressive feat – one worthy of Jedi. Six hundred lives had been snatched from the clutches of a merciless foe, against staggering odds.

And then the Techno Union vessels doubled back upon them like angered wasps, firing at will. He tripled the forward shields, and drove straight into the heart of their formation, scattering them like seeds in the wind as the much larger ship howled through their midst, accelerating wildly.

Adi pulled down the navcomp and primed the hyperdrive. "Strap in," she barked at her companion. "We'll slingshot around Merxus."

Her fellow Jedi pressed his lips together, misgivings held closely within. "Slingshotting" – grafting a second jump sequence onto a pre-programmed initial vector in mid-flight – was the very definition of maniacal disregard for safety protocols. His gaze slid sideways, to the Tholothian woman's utterly tranquil face, and then back to the viewport as he took evasive maneuvers, jinking and jiving through the next onslaught. The shuttle's secondary generator died in a brief-lived shower of sparks as a hit clipped their underside.

"Hold tight," Adi advised, the tiniest smile alleviating the passionless severity of her mien as she sent their craft hurtling into the smeared limbo of hyperspace, their course automatically set for the last jump point in Qui-Gon's initial itinerary, the coordinates most recently logged into the nav computer. Stars bled into shimmering ribbons of light, space into liquid nothingness.

They released a collective breath of relief.

Adi set about calculating the second leg of their circuitous route, entering Praxis' coordinates into the shipboard console. "I feel danger ahead – Naata may have anticipated their destination," she muttered darkly. "Praxis is an obvious choice."

"But the only viable one. That freighter has very limited life support capacity."

"Yes," the other Jedi master agreed, "We had better have the emergency signal ready. We might need the Service Corps' assistance, whatever lies ahead. "

A heavy silence settled between them, the plenum brimming with vague portent.

"Our Padawans are both capable," Qui-Gon asserted, willing the Force to hear.

* * *

The freighter dropped back into realspace with an inelegant stumble and burp, setting off several console alarms.

"Typical woman pilot," Yock snorted, from the rear cockpit.

Siri Tachi's eyes narrowed. "Our brilliant _navigator _landed us practically on top of the planet." And indeed, Praxis' pearlescent curve loomed perilously close, the cloud-smeared atmosphere veiling its surface in opal whites and greys.

"Yeah, you almost _hit the mark,_ fly-boy," Jass teased. "Coulda been ugly."

Obi-Wan steadfastly ignored the mockery. His companions could air their petty grievances until Hoth froze over, but in the end _he_ was the one wearing the pants – or the 'saber, as the case might be.

They cruised around Praxis at a high altitude, watching its twin moons rise over the far horizon rimmed in bright reflected splendor by the system's young white star.

"Oh no," Siri breathed.

Obi-Wan's head jerked up at the same moment. There – partially eclipsed by the further satellite – another spacefaring object emerged into view.

"Orbital weather regulator?"

"Nah… some kinda asteroid," Jas insisted.

But the young Jedi shook his head. "That's no asteroid." It was, in fact, a much larger version of the sleek fighters they had just escaped over Apsolon – a bird of prey circling above their intended refuge, patiently awaiting their inevitable arrival.

"They anticipated us." Siri's hands tightened about the yoke. "That's a war ship."

Jass ran two hands through his disorderly mop. "Holy mother of –"

"Descend!" Obi-Wan issued the order in clipped tones. "We need to –"

But too late. Already the gleaming hunter was drawing nigh, at a speed that promised a grinding collision.

Siri wrenched their unwieldy vessel about, wringing the overloaded engines dry, her teeth gritted as she slammed the emergency override control and accelerated –

A grinding crash and ear-splitting squeal of buckling metal. Bodies slid across the deck, circuitry sparked, the young ruffians cursed and shouted, the two Jedi braced themselves against the console and exchanged a look of purest alarm.

"They're going to board us," Obi-Wan said, voice devoid of all emotion.

Siri swallowed hard. "The passengers – we can't – they're completely trapped."

Obi-Wan sprang to his feet, reaching over her shoulder. "Quickly. The holds can be jettisoned. That's how these shipping companies make deliveries to outlying systems. They just dump the cargo box in orbit and signal for pick up. That way they don't waste power on atmospheric entry. The detachable holds can orbit independently for days."

Siri slapped his hands away from the controls. "Are you crazy, Kenobi? They don't have life support for –"

Another lurching jolt sent them careening forward, nearly into the viewport. The nerve racking shrill of a fusion cutter hard at work against the outer hull assailed their ears.

"They've locked on a docking clamp – do it _now, _ Siri!"

She closed her eyes in resignation and hit the release, sending both self-contained storage containers tumbling away from the tractor portion of their ship, consigning their precious living cargo either to swift salvation or a cold and lonely grave.

"Take the escape pods, Jass – now!"

The gaping youth of Apsolon stared at Obi-Wan as he hollered this next command. The two pod-hatches stood to starboard and port, ready to whisk a handful of refugees to the surface far below.

"You _are _crazy!"

"Just do it! I'll handle this!"

The discontent rabble of Apsolis' streets gaped in unbelieving admiration for a few seconds before hastily complying, crowding into the two pods in a jumble of lanky limbs and obscene exclamations.

"Siri…. Go with them," Obi-Wan pleaded.

"Sorry, Kenobi, you're not in charge of me." She stood shoulder to shoulder with him, waving a terse hand to seal of the escape pod hatches and send the capsules themselves tumbling into Praxis' skies. The small round objects shot away, two bright comets streaking through the heavy clouds, trailing bright fins of molten gold.

The Force surged in warning; Obi-Wan's saber snapped out of its hilt with a menacing hiss; the bridge doors blew apart in a spurt of explosive thunder. Into the confined space stormed a squadron of armed men in drab New Absolutes' uniforms, a thin slant-eyed woman at their head. They leveled a bristling armory of blaster weapons at the cornered pair.

Naata's eyes swept over them contemptuously. "Oh," she said to Siri. "You have a _champion._ How sweet." Then, to her minions, "Kill them both and search the bodies and this ship. I want that data matrix."

The blue 'saber roared into brilliant motion, deflecting bolts in a blur, mercilessly rebounding the deadly projectiles into the bodies of the attackers. The Force screamed with the Absolutes' murderous intent, with the lack of any escape, with his regret, his fury, his horror, his desperation. Bodies fell to the decks, sickening thumps and suddenly stifled cries blending with the deafening twang of plasma bolts released at close range. Siri summoned two fallen blasters into her own grip, and crouched behind a smoking console, picking off foes with deadly accuracy even as Ob-Wan leapt forward, heart in his throat, defense transforming –awfully, instantly- into a blazing offensive.

He choked on death as his blade dealt it out, crying out in unison with those who fell snarling beneath his onslaught. Naata ducked behind a piece of fallen insulation, a ragged shard of bulkhead blown off in the initial blast, and exchanged sniping shots with Siri.

And then there was one: a tall man with an acid-scarred face, his eyes masked behind convex optic implants. The Force twisted with agonized recognition, with bottomless revulsion; Siri Tachi gasped aloud, eyes widening in horror and repugnance; the leering man bared his teeth at his young opponent, cruel enjoyment still written large on his deformed features, a delectation in perfidy already committed, irrevocable damage wrought.

And Obi-Wan knew.

He saw black, a consuming darkness erupting from magmaic depths, an annihilating rage. The Force _exploded _ in his every cell, killing him, burning him, boundless infinite outrage pouring through his blood and bone and breath and the deep-kindling scream of _anger _welling savagely in his throat –

And he threw Siri's tormentor across the bridge, into the viewport. And he threw him again, into the opposite bulkhead. And his 'saber spun, wild blue summer lightning - the razor's edge of madness, alive and pulsing hot in his hand - then plunged into the scorched plastoid just between the foul barve's legs, a smoldering centimeter shy of the man's flesh, the cloth of his trousers already blackening from the blade's heat.

"Aaauugh-nnng- argh," Orrisk choked, invisibly pinned by the throat against the bleached plastoid curve. His artificial eyes bulged, his tongue protruded between his swollen lips.

Obi-Wan's hand tightened about his 'saber's hilt. _One_ cut : upward, dragging slowly, sizzling through corrupted, filthy, perverse flesh and bone, one single searing line of _justice_ carved from crotch to skull –

The Light blinded him, his tears blinded him. _Mercy, mercy, mercy_ cried a voice both Orrisk's and his own, that of Siri and Qui-Gon and the Force itself. Time hung suspended, his will stretched on an excruciating rack between heart and conscience, his entire destiny hanging pendant on the single fatal choice.

He sobbed. The sapphire flame disappeared into its hilt. Orrisk dropped to his feet, gasping. Obi-Wan dropped to his knees, appalled at his own cruelty, at the inner demon that had reared its possessive, wrathful head from hidden deeps, at his utter failure as a Jedi. He bowed his head in shame…

Naata's last ill aimed blast sailed past Siri's shoulder and hurtled into the crack-webbed viewport at its shatterpoint. Transparisteel fractured and splintered outward, a gaping hole sucking air and bodies and scrap metal through the breach. A tumbling panel of metal lifted off the decks in the sudden howling pressure tunnel and sheared over Obi-Wan's bent head by a hairsbreadth, severing Orrisk in two before smashing its way through the ruined curve of glass, taking both halves of the corpse, weapons, Naata, circuits, slag, tools, and the whirling white spray of the emergency fire retardant with it.

Siri's body slammed into Obi-Wan's back, and they hit the lower console together, hands digging wildly into each other's clothing, arms, the ragged edges of metal. Siri flung out a hand and sent a wave of Force washing over what remained of the controls; the blast panels slammed over the broken viewport, lights flickered into darkness, and with a terrible rending of metal from metal, the Apsolonian ship ripped free of the crippled freighter's hull, the docking port breaking off both ships as they plummeted through the skies, caught in the planet's gravity well.

They gasped for breath in the nearly airless space, chests heaving, faces slick and white.

The ruined ship began to spin, spiraling downward toward instant and inevitable death. There were no more bodies, but the scent of blood and burned flesh and the impalpable echo of destruction lingered, clotting the Force.

They fell faster, accelerating hard. "Siri.."

The emergency thrusters fired, jerking them in midair but merely slowing the descent. The world spun faster, a dizzying dive through empyrean heights.

She seized his face between her hands. "We're going to the Force, Obi-Wan."

Breathing hurt. Blackness crawled at the edges of vision. He held her close. There was no death, no fear, no self. And one last moment, one last breath in which to say…

Their lips brushed, and then joined. And the forbidden words leapt between them, the truth unashamed in the face of the absolute, the shadow of utter extinction.

_I love you. I love you._

They fell, their mutual embrace a tender contest, hands tangling in each others' hair, mouths greedily seeking a first taste of the other's last breath , their spirits a pair of young thranctills locked together as they plunged toward certain doom, their ancient dance consummated on the bright and sorrowful edge of destruction.

The ship hurtled, spinning wildly, into the ragged contours of the polar mountains and hit the topmost peak of Mount Herzat with a bone shattering impact, a dark pennant of sickly smoke rising to heaven to mark its burial site.


	25. Chapter 25

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 25**

The Republic shuttle reverted with a sudden nauseating lurch, the formless sworls of hyperspace yielding them over to a reality in which Praxis' ghostly curve loomed stark against blackest night. The Force was turgid with death, with destruction.

"Qui-Gon!"

He needed no prompting; ahead there languidly spun a nebula of debris, a gruesome halo of slag and blasted wreckage, grim evidence of a battle just completed.

The tall man ran the scanners, his breath baited. "There are two large masses in orbit – The active scanners register significant organic life."

They shot forward, descending into the gravity well and signaling the Republic Service Corps as they chased these elusive objects around the planet's equator.

"There they are." Just over the terminator between night and day, the unmoored cargo holds of the freighter drifted, two oblong boxes set to float like rudderless boats in the cold sea of Praxis' skies. "They've jettisoned the holds… what does that mean?"

Qui-Gon's hands tightened on the yoke, the Force whispering the likely answer in his reluctantly attentive ear. "They were ambushed," he replied, throat tightening.

Adi's face froze, the truth closing her own airway. "And sent the passengers to safety." She coded a new message to the Service Corps, giving the location of the cargo pods, which must be evacuated with all due speed. "They did well, Qui-Gon."

He nodded, denial marching in strident protest within his very blood. They _must_ be alive… surely he would have felt – surely he could still feel – he closed his eyes, reaching through the Force's churning expanse, into the boundless depths of Light, seeking his student across their bond, that placeless timeless connection forged so delicately, so excruciatingly, over so many years…

_Obi-Wan. Padawan. Hear me._

He could not say with certainty whether the response, feeble and undefined as it was, were real or the phantom yearnings of his imagination. But he clung to it steadfastly, as a drowning man to a splinter of flotsam. "The northern pole," he said, at last. "They… crashed."

Adi's liquid eyes widened minutely, a world of grief threatening to overflow their luminous banks… but she turned resolutely to the controls again. "We must at least find the site."

"Yes." It was all they could do. Neither of them dared to consider what they might find.

* * *

For an eternity there was only blackness, and then only cold, and then only pain.

But after the first measureless aeon, something woke him: a firm imperious pressure deep in his mind, a faint yet irresistible command sounding out of the icy depths. Darkness surrendered him up for one last moment, releasing him back into bitter awareness.

He cracked open his eyes, watching the stinging white blurs drift slowly down upon his face, the firmament overhead gray and ghastly, fretted with smoking ribbons, slow-coiling fire. It spun, and twisted, and the world reeled beneath him.

"Master…?" he whispered, but the sense of another's _presence, _ of being _sought, _ faded as he strained to meet it, temples throbbing with rare fire at the effort. He turned his head, staring now at a shard-littered deck, at spattered crimson droplets.

There was blood everywhere. He wondered whose it was.

And a cold weight pressed against him, leaden limbs tangled among his own.

"Siri," he rasped, but she did not move. White flecks crowned her tousled hair. There was blood in it, too. And it hurt.. or maybe _he_ hurt. Pain closed over his head, a black tide, and then subsided, leaving him gasping. "Siri?"

But she was cold, and there was so much blood, and he couldn't really move. And the white fluttered gently down, numbing everything to a cosseting and comfortable nothingness, a welcome oblivion….

And then his brief respite was ended, and the blackness called for him, and he sank again, perhaps forever, into its depths.

Just before he lost consciousness, he smelled mandrangea blossoms floating in a golden sunbeam, raining softly down upon both their faces - memory's last sweet benediction from a time now infinitely long ago and far, far away.

* * *

A gaping crater marked the crash site; snow piled into the open grave, the mournful tears of a gray sky, gently burying the past and the future in a white rainfall.

It took the two Jedi masters far too long to find a suitable landing place for their own vessel; and far too long again to hike and climb to the broken summit where their apprentices' bodies presumably lay, if they had not been utterly pulverized in the crash. The ascent was arduous, the wind biting. Icy flakes bit at their cheeks, froze on moist lashes, hardened faces gaunt with expectation as they made the pinnacle, and then found the gutted hull of the freighter., like the decayed cadaver of some slain beast, its ribs open to carrion birds and the scouring elements. They clambered over the ruins, seeking the central control deck.

"Oh sweet Force," Adi Gallia breathed, sliding over the last mangled rampart of durasteel, into the blackened ruins of the freighter's bridge. Behind her, Qui-Gon waved aside crushed panels of metal and plastoid bulk insulation, lifted a piece of blasted wreckage – the remains of a console?- out of the way. The decks were littered with circuitry, slag, the jagged shards of the imploded viewport… and a pair of bodies, a twist of crimson stained cloth, limbs tangled, tightly pacted in courageous despair. Siri's hair spilled in a wide halo over both their faces; fingers still clutched at each other's tunics, frozen stiff by cold.

Adi reached them first, dropping to her knees. "Force, no."

She brushed golden hair aside, pressed hands against a white throat. "Qui-Gon!"

He crouched down, one broad hand smoothing a forehead sticky with clotted blood, with grime and clinging frost, heart skipping a beat before he sensed the faintest embers of life still smoldering deep beneath the surface.

"They're still alive. Quickly – help me."

Together, they pried the Padawans apart, loosening clinging fingers, gently unraveling the close knot of arms and legs, feeling for fractures and dislocations, breathing heat and life back into laboring lungs and hearts, bodies half-dead with cold and injury.

"We should wait for the emergency team," Adi decided, cupping Siri's cheek in one hand. "The Service Corps is on its way."

The other Jedi master nodded, tersely, his hands still checking over the multitude of lacerations scoring his apprentice's back and arms. Red seeped in alarming puddles through his clothing; but the cuts were moderately shallow, nothing bacta could not heal. He rocked back on his heels, releasing a breath of purest relief, spreading one hand protectively over the young man's chest.

"Thank the Force," Adi murmured. She closed her eyes. "I thought we had lost them both."

Qui-Gon glanced up, wondering whether this might not still – in some sense – be the case. Either one of them would be a fool to deny the implications of the scene: Obi-Wan and Siri had faced death not shoulder to shoulder as comrades, but pressed together heart against heart, the desperately melded embrace of lovers.

Adi met his gaze, eyes limpid with understanding. "They survived by the will of the Force," she said, finally. "All else will find its rightful disposition in time."

He blinked in utter shock, and the Living Force laughed at his naïve reaction.

"We teach, we learn," Adi added, laconic. She lowered startling azure eyes, tracing over her Padawan's sickly pale face. "They learn, they teach."

"The Code – " he began, feeling that he had just this moment made Adi's true acquaintance.

"They will find their way," she assured him, mellifluous voice ringing with a confidence springing from the deep wellsprings of premonition. "As must we all."

* * *

"..Master?"

Qui-Gon quickened at the sound, surfacing from a light meditative trance back into the bland sterility of the medcenter recovery room. A hovering droid paused outside the cubicle, peering at the biomonitor briefly before burbling away again on another errand.

"Don't make a fuss," the Jedi master warned, restraining Obi-Wan with one hand. "You still need to heal. We'll be here a while yet."

His apprentice frowned muzzily up at him, focus wavering between his face and some invisible distance where fragmented memory still flitted elusively out of his reach. "Here?" he asked, at last.

"On Praxis. I leave you unsupervised for a few days, and you arrive at the rendezvous with a significant blaster burn, cuts, bruises, sprains, dislocations, hypothermia, and a concussion. You've kept the clinicians here rather busy."

Obi-Wan blinked at him, the line between his brows deepening. "Praxis?" he asked, helplessly.

The tall man leaned forward, humor crinkling the corners of his eyes. "You made quite the dramatic entrance- especially for someone who doesn't like flying."

But the jest inspired no pawky retort. "I don't… master, _where_ are we?"

The medics had perhaps been a trifle heavy-handed with the sedatives, Qui-Gon decided. A smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. "We are _here_, Padawan."

"…Oh."

"We'll talk later. You need to rest."

"Yes, master."

But instead of resting as instructed, Obi-Wan scowled vaguely at the ceiling, blue eyes tracing over its faint hairline cracks and the outline of the ventilation grating as though deciphering some esoteric message inscribed therein. The Jedi master folded his arms across his chest, affectionate smile twisting into one of exasperation.

The Padawan bolted upright, setting one of the machines to shrill beeping. "Siri!" he exclaimed, a bright flare of certainty dispelling all lingering fogginess. "She was with me – the crash – "

Qui-Gon held him by the uninjured shoulder. "Peace. She is here, too. You both survived, to the general astonishment of the emergency responders, Master Gallia, and myself." He held up one hand, forestalling the next urgent query. "And yes, the passengers in the freighter's hold were also evacuated and taken to safety. You and Padawan Tachi did well."

This assurance had the desired effect; the young Jedi slumped back against the pillows, exhaling in relief. "That's good," he said, upon due consideration. Then, after another thoughtful pause, "… I'm tired."

"That is to be expected. Why don't you rest now?"

It was more than a suggestion and less than an imperative. Over-medicated or not, Obi-Wan still had to have the last word. He dredged up a faint scrap of mettlesome wit and managed an insouciant half-smirk. "Because my garrulous old master won't hold his peace?"

The jibe called for a swift braid-tugging. "Wretched brat."

Satisfied that right order had been restored to the universe, the subject of this fond rebuke slid into a comfortable daze, eyes drooping closed as he floated drowsily on the Living Force's ephemeral currents. Qui-Gon was left to reflect, with a pang of nostalgia, that his _brat_ had all but outgrown the familiar nickname, as evidenced by the infant beard adorning his jawline and the subtle deepening in his Force signature, the bittersweet tang of new and aching inner horizons. The tall man sighed, carded his fingers through the Padawan's slightly overgrown hair, and took his leave with solemn step.

* * *

Qui-Gon watched from the doorway, forcibly suppressing a smile, as his apprentice steadily worked his way through a _third_ helping of mediocre fare sent expressly from the medcenter cafeteria.

"It would be a great pity, Padawan, if you were to _explode_ as a consequence of over-indulgence."

Obi-Wans' brows rose, but he did not waste breath on any pert retort. Not when there was still a scrap left on his tray. He polished off the meal with a long draught of muja nectar.

"Muja?" Qui-Gon inquired. "How did you convince the nurses to permit _that?"_

The Padawan settled back against his mound of pillows with a singularly self-satisfied look, not offering any explanation. Qui-Gon sat on the cot's edge, cocking an admonitory eyebrow.

"There was no mind trick involved, master!"

The older man was not fooled. "There are _other_ ways to abuse the privileges granted by one's natural endowments besides direct mind influence," he said, sternly, ignoring the slightly mutinous glimmer in his apprentice's eyes. "And do not pretend innocence. I overheard the young ladies gossiping in the staff break room. You are a _very_ popular fellow here."

"I did not actually say or do _anything_ –"

"Indeed, I suspect they might find a way to delay your release, say, indefinitely – if you give them any further incentive to bend the rules."

This had a galvanizing effect. "Master! You wouldn't let them! I'm perfectly fit and they can't hold a Jedi against his will, anyhow. It's against galactic ambassadorial regulations."

"Just as sugar-laden delicacies are against medcenter nutritional policies."

The young Jedi came dangerously close to rolling his eyes, but he settled for fidgeting irritably with the sling holding his left arm immobilized against his chest.

"We will return to Coruscant as soon as both you and Padawan Tachi are recovered sufficiently. I'm sure you can exercise uncharacteristic patience for your friend's sake?"

This was playing dirty, and they both knew it, but Qui-Gon had never been one much to scruple over the rules of engagement.

"Yes, master," came the faintly sullen reply. Then, soberly, "Did you succeed in gaining an audience with Gallion?"

Qui-Gon sighed and looked out the narrow slit-window opposite. "Director Er'kvan of the Republic Service Corps conveyed my message to him, but no… he refuses to meet me, and – I am given to understand – had strong words to say on the subject."

"So he won't even give you an opportunity to explain? Or to answer his accusations?"

"No." Qui-Gon's voice bore little bitterness. "It is not to be," he said, simply.

But Obi-Wan bristled. "That is cowardly and dishonorable!"

"He had fine things to say about you, however, young one," the Jedi master added, with a small smile.

"That means nothing to me."

"Oh?" The tall man's brows rose, and he affectionately grabbed his apprentice's foot beneath its thick layer of covers. "You _are_ entitled to your own virtues, Obi-Wan, and the recognition of the same. Indeed, there will someday come a time when you must rely on them exclusively. I do not require you to share in whatever ignominy or infamy I have earned for myself over the decades."

Obi-Wan did not like this answer; his mouth hardened in a stubborn and loyal line.

"Padawan –" Qui-Gon began again, but subsided as one of the young nursing aids bustled into the room, bearing a large stack of holobooks in her arms.

"Oh, Padawan Kenobi," this individual simpered, delivering the volumes to the bedside table. "I couldn't find _all_ the ones you requested, but here are a few." She lingered solicitously, putzing about with the covers and the empty tray. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Thank you. Perhaps ," Obi-Wan replied, shooting a smirk at his mentor behind her back, "more muja nectar?"

"Let me check the bandaging on your shoulder," the pretty young humanoid decided, easing his medcenter gown open to reveal a well-toned chest, and examining the healing blaster wound at a leisurely and contemplative pace.

It was the Jedi master who rolled his eyes this time. "Thank you," he pointedly told the nurse. "That will be all. And Padawan Kenobi does not require any further special attention."

Slightly dazed, she nodded. "Yes. That will be all. No more special attention." And she stumbled out of the room, forgetting to take the empty dining tray.

"Master! Did you just –"

"My prerogative, Padawan. Why don't you carry on with your _reading?"_ He handed the topmost volume to his protégé, who meekly activated the flickering text display and settled in for a long and studious perusal of its contents.

"Hm," Qui-Gon snorted, still casting a smoldering glance in the direction of the now vacant corridor outside, and not relaxing his vigilant position at the bed's foot.

* * *

The medcenter was provided with a viewing balcony on its top level, a solarium drenched in late afternoon warmth and offering a panoramic view of the mountain's stark majesty. Sunlight caressed the snow-laden slopes, gold and orange rivers running upstream into the dusking purples and blues of cold rock beyond. Above, the three moons were already visible, winking down on the scene, a chorus of admiration.

"Brooding, my Padawan?"

Obi-Wan turned away from the vista at the Jedi master's approach, dipping his head in respectful welcome.

Qui-Gon joined him before the east-facing window, eyes tracing over the slow kaleidoscopic play of light on shadowed peaks.

"Do you think I could see Siri soon?" the Padawan inquired, quietly.

The older Jedi raised his brows. "She is in good hands," he gently rebuffed the young man's hope. "Your concern is laudable, but I think it is too soon."

"We thought…. Well, we did not expect to survive," Obi-Wan said, hesitantly. "I haven't been able to speak with her yet…"

"Patience, young one. There will be time. Master Gallia has spent most the duration of our stay here with her Padawan - It is natural for the master to want time alone, in private, to discuss affairs with her student. We should not impose quite yet."

"…Yes, master." Obi-Wan studied the floor, then raised his eyes back to the glorious landscape without, sinking into a pensive silence once more.

The Jedi master tilted his head to one side, assessing. "Is there perhaps something which we ought to discuss, as well? I sense much unease in you."

The Padawan tore his eyes away from the luminous spectacle, briefly meeting Qui-Gon's penetrating gaze, and then returned his attention to the distant tumble of rock and ice, his expression determinedly grave.

"Brooding will only wear trouble deeper into your heart," Qui-Gon reminded him. "You should unburden yourself."

A deep sigh, a tentative inhalation, and then, "Yes, master." But nothing more.

The tall man opted for the direct approach. "Come. Walk with me."

There were few places in the bustling facility which provided any degree of privacy. They ended up in the main lobby, where a rambunctious gaggle of Rodian younglings played tag among the padded benches, and an elderly Quermian snoozed in a corner. The attendant at the front desk eyes Obi-Wan suspiciously.

"Patients aren't permitted outside the building without medical clearance," the officious woman snipped.

"I'm an exception," the Padawan blithely informed her, fingers curled in the gesture of compulsion. The Force wheedled and cajoled, melting her reservations away.

"You _are_ exceptional," she muttered, glassy-eyed, as he swept past the tall counter and out the main doors, Qui-Gon in tow.

"You are exceptionally _bold_ today, young one," Qui-Gon sternly addressed his apprentice's back. "I do not recall teaching you to abuse your power."

"I'm sorry, master." Obi-Wan led the way through the adjacent park, eventually seeking out a low bench situated behind a screen of sculptured aoli bushes. White petals lay scattered on the manicured lawn. The young Jedi sank down on the duracrete slab, shoulders hunched against the chill air. Qui-Gon settled beside him.

"Now," the tall man prompted. "Out with it."

"I don't know where to begin, master." A single pale blossom drifted upward in defiance of gravity and settled in the young man's palm.

Qui-Gon released a slow breath, folding his arms. "Why don't we start where we left off. My only account of events has been from Jass Caulff, who – though enthusiastic – is not perhaps the most objective witness."

"Caulff," the Padawan snorted, brows rising.

"Do not say it, Padawan: Jass proved essential to your survival. Your only thought should be that of gratitude."

An apologetic sigh. "Yes, master. … He _was_ needed – he saved our lives, in fact –"

"Yes, he was very keen to point that fact out," the Jedi master smiled. "Repeatedly, in fact. He also took credit for smothering a full-scale forest fire … of your making?"

Obi-Wan squirmed a bit, shivering in the damp air. "It was necessary. Siri and I created a distraction to hold off the droids while the Civilized made it to the freighter in safety – we had only one 'saber, and, um.."

"You were already injured. I have never met anyone, Jedi or not, with as great a talent for trouble as you possess."

The young Jedi's mouth twisted wryly. Qui-Gon shrugged out of his cloak and draped it around the young man's shoulders, eliciting a small sound of protest.

"Not a word, Padawan. Now, let us strike a bargain: I shall forgive you the wanton destruction of living creatures – on this _one_ occasion – if you work your way round to the point and tell me what has you so disturbed. It concerns Padawan Tachi, does it not?"

If any doubt lingered in his mind, the brilliant flush creeping up the young man's cheeks would have laid such doubts to their final rest. But the master wisely kept silent, waiting patiently for whatever revelation his student chose to make.

Obi-Wan crushed the flower between his fingers and let it drop, bruised and battered, to the lawn between his boots. "Do you… did Master Gallia tell you… what happened, in the prison, before we arrived?"

"Ah." Qui-Gon's expression softened. "Yes. I was sorry to hear it." He watched his own apprentice carefully as the young Jedi scowled down at his interlaced fingers, the drape of the oversized cloak's hem.

There was something _amiss_ in the intensity of that stare, something far beyond compassion for a wounded fellow. The master's heart sank, the image of the two half-dead Padawans entwined upon the ruined ship's deck branded indelibly upon his inner eye, the implications settling in his gut with a leaden certainty.

He sighed. "Obi-Wan… it sometimes happens when two young people work in such close proximity, under such stressful conditions – "

The trite beginning earned him a flashing rebuttal. "Do not belittle it!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, anger glittering in his eyes now. "I – I acknowledge the mistake, the danger – but do not tell me this is some youngling's infatuation."

"What is it, then?" Qui-Gon softly inquired.

His Padawan bowed his head, not answering. His hands moved to the edge of the bench, knuckles whitening as he gripped the curved stone.

"What happened on that ship before the crash?" the tall man pressed. "Tell me now."

"It was worse than abuse of power, master…" Loathing flitted over the young Jedi's face, swiftly replaced by a mask of stoic calm. "I almost killed a man in anger," he accused himself, flatly, looking straight ahead.

"I see." Another jolt of dread. How close, how perilously close, had they come to the edge of madness. And within days.

"It was Orrissk. The one who …. The one who hurt Siri. I had him at saber point, master. I was going to _maim_ him- cut him in half, slowly…"

"Padawan."

Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands. Petals drifted in the chill breeze.

Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, absorbing the blow. To kill in anger was utter anathema…. But Obi-Wan said _almost. _Almost. There was hope in that. "What stayed your hand?"

"I.. I don't know, master. At least… the Force. It told me not to. So I didn't. But I still wanted to. I _hated_ him."

"Hated… or still hate?"

The young Jedi slumped. "He's dead, master - I don't feel … now when I think of him I only feel _sick."_

They sat, miserable in their shared failing, student and teacher together. At last, Qui-Gon reached out one strong hand and gripped his apprentice's knee. "I am proud of you – that you had the strength to tell me this openly. As you always do."

Obi-Wan nodded. The air knifed through their garments, bitter cold.

"We will deal with this later, after our return to the Temple," the master decided at last. "We are seekers, not saints, Obi-Wan." He stood, inviting the younger man to follow. "In the meantime, I am sure the staff are having a conniption looking for you. And it is far too cold to remain out here."

He shepherded his stricken apprentice back indoors, the chill of the night air seeming to linger impalpably within their hearts as they ascended back to the cloying confines of the fourth level recovery ward.


	26. Chapter 26

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 26**

"Director Er'kvan wished to see us off at the docking pad," Qui-Gon told his apprentice as they hurried along the corridor to the Praxis medcenter's upper level hangars. "He wanted to introduce his new recruits to you."

"His new _recruits?_" Obi Wan repeated. They stepped out of the lift into the echoing vehicle bay. "…Oh."

Behind the tall Kel Dor director in his dark Service Corps uniform, Jass Caulff and a half dozen of his cronies stood at attention, nudging each other in the sides and trying to look orderly and disciplined as they waited for the two Jedi to cross the deck.

"Master Jinn. Padawan Kenobi."

Bows were exchanged, formally. "Director Er'kvan."

"A word with you, perhaps, before you depart? I have the data you requested … our technicians took apart whatever salvageable parts of the Apsolonian vessel could still be fond in orbit. Perhaps your people on Coruscant may find it useful."

Qui-Gon and the Kel Dor ambled up the shuttle's ramp, leaving Obi-Wan in the company of his disreputable age-mates.

Jass thrust out a hand. "So, uh, Kanubi – guess we're like pals now, public servants and all, ya know?"

The young Jedi gingerly shook the other youth's hand. "Yes – from a certain point of view."

"No hard feelings?" the dark haired former delinquent asked, with a hitherto unrevealed measure of sincerity. "I mean, ya know, I didn't know too much about you Jedi until a few days ago. Been real interesting reading up on you all. Me and the guys have a new respect, and uh… you know. The teasing about your friend – the other Jedi, I mean..."

"Padawan Tachi?"

"Right. Hope you didn't take offense. I mean, we get it now. Jedi are all like, uh, brothers and sisters, right – no regular hook-ups and stuff."

Well. "No hard feelings." The Padawan made a short bow. Caulff was not to be blamed for his ignorance, or even his rough edges.

But this only emboldened his interlocutor. "I never met a girl quite like that before. Her being your sister and all, I don't suppose you'd be willing to gimme her number, if you know what I mean? "

Obi-Wan's eyebrows rose. "No, sorry." He sought frantically for a means to soften the flat refusal, but his normally agile wit failed him.

Jass Caulff stared at him, visibly stymied. "Huh. Oh well. You still owe me a pack of smokes, bro."

"I'll remember that." With another bow, this one of polite dismissal, Obi-Wan turned to follow Qui-Gon up the ramp. "May the Force be with you."

The other boy saluted him jauntily. "Right – all that Force stuff to you too."

Qui-Gon and the Service Corps' director were in the passenger hold, just finishing their business.

Er'Kvan nodded graciously to the Padawan as he entered. "It has been an honor to meet you," he said. "And now we must part. I don't know whether Jass mentioned it, but he claims you were in large part his _inspiration_ to join the Corps."

Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon's eye and quickly stifled the witticism threatening to burble up from within, dipping his head in humble acknowledgement. "We come to serve."

The Kel Dor made his way down the ship's ramp, summoning his unruly escort with a wave of the hand.

"They are quite reformed, " Qui-Gon observed, gazing out the hatchway. "Proof that even the most reprobate and indocile youth are not beyond redemption."

"If you say so, master."

"I don't only say it, I live it, Padawan." The tall man's eyes twinkled. "You are, as you say, _exceptional _- and we all know the exception proves the rule."

Obi-Wan sat upon the inset bench against the bulkhead. "Indeed, master. In the same way that you are living proof of the maxim: _with great age comes great wisdom_."

Qui-Gon's mouth thinned as he mentally prepared a fitting rebuttal, but his retort was forestalled by the arrival of Adi Gallia and her own Padawan. The Tholothian paused in the hatchway's frame, then greeted her fellow Jedi master with a small nod before leading the way into the shuttle. Siri trailed behind, eyes demurely lowered to the floor.

Obi-Wan suddenly found his own boots profoundly absorbing.

Adi glanced over her shoulder once at the furiously blushing pair, then discreetly waved a hand at Qui-Gon, shooing him into the cockpit ahead of her. The door quietly hissed closed behind them, sealing the two Padawans in the dim-lit space.

Siri Tachi sat down opposite, her fingers tapping nervously against her 'saber's hilt. "It feels like forever," she said, at last.

Obi-Wan looked up, his eyes meeting hers in a searing conjunction of unvoiced meaning, before they mutually turned their heads away, pulses quickening and cheeks aflame.

"Siri," he started, willing his voice to remain steady. "We – we need to talk."

He dared encompass her in his view again, drinking in every line of her profile, the mesmerizing pattern of crossing golds and whites where she had pulled her hair into a tight braid behind her head, the place just below her ear where an intractable stray hair curled lightly against her throat.

She swallowed, resolutely not meeting his gaze. "I thought we were going to die."

He glanced down at the deck matting as she stirred, but he could feel her eyes resting upon him with the same intense attention to detail, an artist's critical appraisal. "It does… complicate matters," he replied, striving for levity.

She shifted, and he looked up again, only to collide once more with her gaze. The shuttle lifted off the decks and rose into the skies, soaring beneath and around them, quietly ascending to the stars above.

They could touch one another just by reaching an arm out across the narrow cabin… but they merely sat, arms folded across their chests, mirrored obstinacy in posture and expression. At last, Siri's eyes flickered toward the cockpit. "Did you…?"

He nodded. "Yes. A bit."

"Oh." Siri dipped her head. "My master and I … discussed many things." Her arms tightened their defensive knot over her chest. "There was so much to … I did tell her, but…"

He pressed his back against the bulkhead, the pressure on his spine alleviating the constricting vise around his heart. "We should seek further counsel, Siri. It's our duty."

She nodded miserably. "I'm afraid of the answer."

"That doesn't matter. And we should meditate on it too." A deep breath. "The Force will give clarity."

Siri worried at her lower lip, then closed her eyes in resignation. "Yes."

A jolt and a lurch as the shuttle entered hyperspace; they exhaled in unison and then sought each other's eyes once more, mental shields slipping in unison, a twofold breach in adamantine barriers. A single thought took shape between them again, a bittersweet defiance, a sorrowful hope and trembling recognition of dangerous truth.

_I still love you._

The ship hurtled onward, leaving Praxis and Apsolon and sluggish light far behind.

* * *

"And what counsel have you given him regarding this matter?" Adi asked.

Outside the viewport, formless swirls of blue and white wove a sinuous, patternless dance. Qui-Gon crossed his arms. "None – that is, nothing specific. Some answers must wait upon the proper question if they are to be heard."

His fellow master nodded in solemn agreement. "You are right. Siri discussed her feelings with me very openly. I am afraid this will not be easily uprooted, Qui-Gon."

He nodded. "If I know my Padawan, it is likely not a passing fancy. He feels deeply."

"A dangerous quality, some would say," Adi remarked.

But it was clear that neither she nor Qui-Gon were necessarily adherents to this belief.

He watched the shapeless convolutions of the hyperspace tunnel writhe and twist their way past; or perhaps it was they who now squirmed and wriggled through the realms of uncertainty, of the possible and the impossible. "I would like to seek Yoda's advice."

"That is wise," Adi concurred. "Though …. he may be harsh."

Qui-Gon's mouth thinned. "I have endured his censure before," he responded, wryly. "I would not wish to deprive him of an opportunity to further critique my teaching methods."

His companion offered a small but melting smile of amusement. "Your current Padawan is a credit to you, Jinn – though I am tempted to say his finest virtues are in those respects where he has _not_ learned from you."

"You are too kind."

But the edge of Adi's jest was quickly blunted. "I am only tempted to say it; Obi-Wan will someday be a credit to the Order, and only a fool would deny your hand in that."

The unexpected compliment struck the tall man momentarily silent. He bowed his head in acknowledgement, then sighed. "We are still left with our present difficulty."

Adi's luminous eyes slid sideways, a measure of pragmatic wisdom in their blue depths. "It might be just as well to let them struggle with it for a while. They are both headstrong – such an obstacle, which calls into question their commitment and integrity, and which they cannot easily resolve themselves, will be good for their pride."

Surprised, Qui-Gon regarded his colleague warily. "You suggest patience?"

"I do."

It was a good answer, a time honored one. "Very well."

"Besides, your apprentice has above all been a loyal friend to Siri. I think, perhaps, it is his compassion which has enabled her to recover from recent events… and though there is still healing to be done, I must attribute her progress thus far to the benefit of such friendship. I would not wish to destroy what is salutary in an effort to remove what is not."

Qui-Gon nodded grimly. Risk and benefit, greater and lesser evils: was a Jedi ever faced with a simple choice? "Then we shall watch and wait," he decided, hoping that this course was indeed the wisest one laid before them.

* * *

Obi-Wan covered his wide yawn with one hand.

"Is my company so tedious?" Qui-Gon teased, waving a hand to activate the lift controls. The carriage smoothly accelerated upward, carrying them to the summit of the Temple's south tower.

"I'm sorry, master – I was hoping we would have a moment to rest before the Council report." The Padawan folded his hands into opposite sleeves, deliberately throwing his shoulders back. It would never do to _slouch_ in the presence of Masters Yoda or Windu.

Qui-Gon's eyes hinted at sympathy. "You were supposed to rest on the shuttle." Of course, it was understood between them that _flying_ itself was too great an irritant to allow proper relaxation, but the Jedi master felt obliged to issue the reminder anyhow.

"I'll be fine."

"This may be a long session…. And the Council may wish to speak with you and Padawan Tachi at length."

This suggestion brought the young Jedi jolting to full alertness.

Qui-Gon steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. "Concerning your role in the mission," he clarified, a small frown of concern appearing between his brows.

The lift slowed to a stop, but Qui-Gon held the doors closed a moment longer.

"I'm sorry, master – I am distracted."

"I can sense your wandering thoughts – there are a great many personal matters on your mind. But this is not the time for them. Keep your focus in the present moment, where it belongs."

This mild remonstrance having been delivered for the thousandth time since his apprenticeship began, Obi-Wan dipped his head. "Yes, master," he mumbled.

The tall man released the doors and led the way out. Warm sunlight filled the Council room antechamber, spilling on the marble floor and illumining the dark folds of two cloaks. Adi Gallia and her Padawan sat close together upon one of the cushioned benches, hoods drawn up well over their faces, a universally recognized sign that they were to be afforded privacy. The Force flowed evenly, tranquilly about the two meditating women.

Qui-Gon signaled with one hand that they should do the same, and perched upon the small chamber's remaining seat, his long legs propped out in front of him. Obi-Wan settled beside him, gaze straying to Siri's cloaked form before returning by an act of will to his mentor.

"Let us see whether we can find your center," the Jedi master quietly suggested. "It seems to be absent without leave."

The young Jedi smiled ruefully and closed his eyes, pulling up his own cowl and allowing Qui-Gon's serene presence to wash over him, pull him along in its wake as they set out into the Force's broad currents, basking in the strength giving Light before the extended recitation of their misadventures. Both pairs of Jedi remained thus for many long minutes, students sheltered beneath their masters' wings, all roosting peacefully in ethereal radiance, until they were summoned within.

* * *

Many hours later, gratefully emancipated from further duties, Obi-Wan strode down a quiet residential hall in the upper levels. He found the right door without effort, hitting the chime with a heady mixture of relief and anticipation.

"Enter."

He waved the portal open, practically bounding into the apartment. "Master Uvain?"

"I'm over here," Tahl's weary voice replied, from around the corner. A moment later, a hoverchair bore her gaunt, blanket-wrapped frame into the common area, stopping him dead in his eager tracks. "Oh- don't you _dare,_ Obi-Wan. Get a grip on yourself this instant."

He shut his mouth and tamped down his cry of distress. For Tahl Uvain had sworn, once upon a time, that she would _die_ before the Temple's healers wrestled her into the indignity of a mechanical conveyance.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and prepare the tea, there's a good boy. I'm very happy to have you back… though apparently you've lost your master?"

He crumbled dried leaves in to the pot with trembling hands, struggling to release a sickening wave of fear into the Force. Tahl was manifestly _worse, _ her light fading rapidly, her luminous Force presence heightened by its final dusking. He counted down to twenty on a long exhalation.

"Padawan," Tahl said, severely.

"Forgive me."

"I asked where you had mislaid Qui-Gon?"

He bore the steaming tea to her low table, setting it carefully upon the surface, stained with many rings of moisture where years' worth of similar offerings had been set down and forgotten, likely by Qui-Gon Jinn. "He's busy with the comm. center – Ban Yaro is trying to crack the encryption on a data matrix Master Gallia and he brought home. It's a long story."

Tahl smiled. "Don't spoil it, then – Qui likes to do his own boasting. Tell me about your own adventures."

He poured the fragrant dark liquid into cups. "It's … complicated."

She accepted her delicate bowl gravely, head tilted to one side, blind eyes tracing over an invisible landscape just behind him. "Come here so I can see you."

Obediently he scooted around the table to kneel just beside her chair. A thin hand reached down and brushed over his hair, then his face, resting gently on the back of his neck.

"Well? Are you going to tell me or must I wring it out of you?"

Reluctantly, he lowered his mental shields, allowing a torrent of unresolved questions and anxieties to tumble unchecked into the Force. Amid the tumult, Siri's name shone like reflected starlight, the burning mirror of his inner constellations.

Tahl's fingers tightened their grip, a softly calloused encouragement rasping along his nape. "Oh, Padawan. That is a hard path."

He bowed his head, silent.

"I am sorry, young one…. I would not have wished such burdens upon your heart."

His head tipped sideways to rest miserably against her knee. "I never asked you, master.. I know it is not my place, but…. I have to know."

A heavy silence. "I think you already know," she replied, after a long stretch of time.

Throat aching, he nodded. Yes, he already knew. He had known for a long time. "And now?"

"Now?" Tahl's voice softened. "Now comes the test, does it not? A Jedi possesses nothing; he holds nothing for himself, he clings to nothing but the Force. And when he does, he suffers. And others suffer as well."

"Then the Code…?"

"Is given meaning by those who live by it. And who die by it," she added, in an introspective whisper. "You cannot think your way through this, young one. You will have to _live _ through it instead. There is no other way."

He sat up straight, brutally imposing self-control. They drank in silence, the tea bitter from its extended steeping.

"Master… may I ask you something else?"

Tahl snorted. "Another personal question? You _are_ grown bold."

"Not precisely… but you were with my master the first time he went to Apsolon. When the Worker's Libertarian Revolution overthrew the Civilized and sent them into exile."

"Ah, yes." A deep sigh. "I do not recall that mission with any fondness. Qui-Gon and I nearly came to blows over it." A fond smile flitted over her features. "That stubborn gundark."

"Did he – the Civilized claimed that he _caused_ the death of their freedom fighters – that he betrayed them after vowing to render aid."

Tahl stiffened. "He stopped a terrorist movement from slaying innocents – the circle of retribution was going to spin indefinitely on that vile planet. We intervened. They came prepared to die, willing to die, wanting to die. And so they did. We killed seventeen men that day, Obi-Wan."

Speechless, he said nothing.

"They would have killed thousands, and more after that. It was a terrible confrontation. A terrible burden. I am sure we have never been forgiven by the partisans. Certainly we have never forgotten it ourselves." She hesitated, sightless gaze resting on the ghosts of the past. "There are choices – _right_ choices you must make, Padawan, which will nonetheless leave an undercurrent of regret."

"He never told me."

A gentle sigh. "Perhaps he only wishes to bequeath you his hard-earned wisdom, and not his mistakes? Regarding that mission… and other things, too."

The tea leaves slouched in a bedraggled heap amid cold dregs. "You could not be a mistake, master," he managed to hoarsely whisper.

Her fingers brushed against his cheek one more time. "…How you remind me of him sometimes."

* * *

"Just here, Padawan. Mirror my movements."

Standing opposite Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan slowly raised his 'saber in the first step of the kata, his attention riveted on his master's every subtle motion. They faced one another, eyes locked, the Force flowing with inexorable strength about them, binding two into one, the teaching tradition into a solitary living thing passing down the endless generations, changeless yet ever-new, taking on a new vitality with each succeeding phase of the lineage.

"Slower," Qui-Gon commanded.

It was a strange kata, not like those designed to teach the fundamentals of battle. _Ancient,_ Qui-Gon had said, though he had no particular affinity to the historical and traditional; _for purification of the heart,_ he had also said, offering no further explanation.

Beyond this, it was difficult, for the weapons' blades passed by a gap of centimeters across their chests, their backs, shoulders, thighs, the pulsing lines of fire barely skimming vulnerable flesh. At such a measured speed, even the comparatively mild heat of the weapons' training setting threatened to singe and burn- and yet as the kata continued, with exquisite deliberation, the slow sweep of the sabers brought them yet closer and closer, their wielders twisting through a deadly moving net of their own making, a maze of searing lines, of precise cuts a razor's edge from self-destruction.

Obi-Wan felt perspiration bead on his face, a sprinkling of instinctive fear mixed with salt. But Qui-Gon only lowered his brows minutely, a warning to _attend_ and continue, and they pushed onward, weaving their way through the strangely perilous steps of this ancient dance, the lesson apparent in every purposeful near-miss: with power, with skill, with the _gift, _ came the possibility of a terrible fall, of a nameless perdition.

"Now," Qui-Gon said, when the solemn ritual had carried on for a seeming eternity, "Recall what happened. Do not _think- _ merely recollect."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened slightly, his skin prickling where the 'saber's heat had threatened to burn, heart racing as they played this dangerous game of control. But he did not dare voice any objection, nor break his tightly furled concentration. Images welled into his mind, bright and painful fragments of conscience, of _that_ moment aboard the dying freighter.

_Bulging metallic eyes, sightless swollen sockets brimming with perverse delight, the Force redolent of dark, of hate, of lust and cruelty… Black rage, bright passion, protective fury, rising like a thunderstorm, driven on winds of loss, of longing… the crack of bone as a body hit the viewport, then the bulkhead, the grunt of pain, the bruising spreading outward on filthy flesh and in the roiling Force…. a saber's blade screaming with purest revulsion, pitched rage - sinking into the wall, so close, so awfully, threateningly close…. And for a moment he was death's avenging angel, a nexus of sheerest power, of the cosmos' justice, damning judgment…._

Obi-Wan slipped and burned himself, hissing as the blade passed close to his own thigh. He panted, teeth gritted. Qui-Gon held his gaze, stern eyes commanding that he _continue._

_And the Force – a chorus of voices, a welling tide of pleas, calling for him to stop, to come back from the brink of madness._

_The choice was his._

He dropped his 'saber in memory and in fact. The blue blade was extinguished as the hilt hit the polished floor. Silence drummed in his ears, his own harsh breathing muffled by self-loathing.

Qui-Gon knelt beside him. "Release it into the Force," the tall man's voice softly murmured. "Do not _cling_ to your shame, any more than your pride."

The Padawan's forehead touched the floor in front of his knees, his heart bleeding inwardly, into the turbulent Force: the hubris, the shame, the anger, the regret, the wild passion, the throbbing wound of another's pain, the agony of decision, the horror and the sorrow together. And he was left with stunned self-knowledge, a weighted and anchored peace.

"Master – I am unworthy. I have the seeds of darkness within me… I have seen it now, clearly." The revelation was too fresh to inspire even a pang of dread; that would come later, when the shock wore off, he knew- but for now, there was only the dizzying absence of a previous certitude, of foundational self-assurance.

Qui-Gon did not seem to think the discovery so very scandalous, however. "It is not temptation that determines our worth and courage, but our response to it. To touch darkness is to live… to _embrace _it – that is to die. You, my Padawan, have not embraced it, even though it came so close to your heart. Learn from the lesson but do not hasten to condemn yourself for having occasion to learn it."

Obi-Wan regarded him dubiously.

"Hear my words," the master intoned formally, "-or suffer their repetition indefinitely until you do."

A tiny breath of humor rippled across their bond.

"Ask instead: _why_ did this darkness manifest itself? What is its root?"

Now the young Jedi's brows contracted again, pained remembrance renewing the first flush of mortification. "Attachment," he muttered, hollowly. "I did it for Siri…" He hesitated, scowling deeply. "But I also _withheld _from doing it for Siri's sake." _And yours,_ came the unspoken addition.

And Tahl's and Yoda's and his friends, both Jedi and not, and for all those he had yet to know or meet and for all those who would come afterward and for his own sake as well. Qui-Gon nodded, encouraging further reflection.

"I don't understand."

"Do you _expect_ to understand everything at your young age?" the Jedi master gently teased. "You must accept the limits of your own insight, I think. The beginning of real wisdom lies in the realization that you do not yet possess it."

"Yes, master."

"Well," Qui-Gon observed, "that is a good beginning. Have you found any greater peace, Padawan?"

"Yes – at least, perhaps. I'm not sure, master."

The tall man stood, holding out a hand to lever his apprentice upright beside him. "Then we shall repeat this exercise every evening from henceforth until you _are_ sure."

They left in thoughtful silence, the younger trailing gratefully in the older man's shadow.


	27. Chapter 27

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 27**

There was a place just behind the small waterfall in the Temple arboretum – a hollowed out space of stone where a child, or a cautiously hunched man, might seek brief respite from the bombarding presence of several hundred Force sensitives harbored beneath one vast roof. Here, the endless outpouring of water over the artificial cliff washed away all distractions, soothed all hurts, blended all cacophonous thought and emotion into its own chiming music, the muted light filtering through the diaphanous veil between inner and outer reality.

It was a good place to meditate – until one's solitude was interrupted by the arrival of an uninvited, but perhaps not _unwelcome_ guest.

"How did you find me?" Obi-Wan asked, starting out of his deep reverie. His heart skipped at the sight of her, the damp spray of the falls clinging to her hair in a thousand droplets.

Siri's shapely mouth twisted upward at one corner. "By looking for you," she answered, in her best masterly tone. When the reply brought no playful smile in return, she confessed. "Bant ratted you out. She says this is where you come to be morose."

"She didn't say that!"

"Well, no," Siri admitted, pertly. "I was reading between the lines. Because I know you."

He shifted sideways, making room for her at the back of the tiny cave. She wedged herself in beside him, taking his hand between her own and playing idly with his fingers.

"Siri," he protested, "We shouldn't be –"

"What? Hiding for the whole Temple? You're right. We shouldn't be. What a _chosski_ I am for suggesting it."

He let his head drop back against the damp stone behind them, releasing a sigh of exasperation. "I'm not hiding. I'm _thinking._"

"Brooding, more like it." Her head rested against his shoulder. "So are you going to tell me, or do I have to let Garen and Reeft in on your secret?"

Her hair smelled sweet, and it was soft against his cheek. He turned his face into it, a second waterfall behind the first, a cascade of golden warmth. For a fleeting moment there was no other place or time but this, and no sorrow looming on a fast-approaching horizon.

"What is it, _ben'ke?"_

He could unburden himself to Siri without fear, for in so doing the pain was still contained within the guarded fastness of his own heart. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply of her scent. "Master Uvain… she is returning to the Force. Soon now, I think. My master was with her at the healers' all last night… I do not think it will be long. Weeks at the most. And I…"

She waited, her grip around his fingers tightening. "You are close to her?"

"She's my - " …his what? What a fool he was making of himself. " - Yes."

"You'll be all right," Siri soothed him. "No matter what. I know it." One hand came up to rest against his chest. "It's part of who you are."

Her faith carried with it the weight of a crushing mandate, one he was powerless to resist. Deepest fear tumbled from hidden depths, as though to disprove the basis of such overwhelming faith. "What if I turn, Siri? What if losing her drives me to the Dark? On the ship – before we crashed… I came so close already. What if I stray again, or worse?"

Siri Tachi was not one to quail in the face of a challenge. "So?" she replied, boldly. "I'll come find you. No matter what. Even if nobody else does." She gripped his hand fiercely, her fighting spirit roused to battle. "I promise you. Even if it's _forbidden."_

Now he was genuinely terrified. "Siri, no – you can't say that! That's part of the problem… with us… with this – I don't want you to _follow _ me if I go Dark, that would be worse than anything else, you have to promise me –"

"I already made my promise," she interrupted. "Now be quiet before I slap you."

He subsided, accepting the promise, the offered salvation, the sure refuge of unconditional trust.

"I have to go," Siri said, but she did not go quite yet.

And the water drew a solemn veil over their second mutual pledge, neither approving nor condemning, but simply flowing ever-onward with the endless wheel of time.

* * *

"Master, are you sure this is a good idea?"

Qui-Gon turned to his Padawan, mildly surprised. "Why would it not be? The Apsolonian data matrix proved too complex even for Ban-Yaro's impressive talent. It only stands to reason that we should seek outside expert assistance."

"Yes, but…. the anti-register was invented for _unstealin_g. It does not seem proper for Jedi to employ criminal methods to accomplish our ends."

The tall man's brows rose in bland agreement. "Which is why the excellent Derrida brothers will be the ones employing their device to such great benefit. I would not wish to pose such an obstacle to your scrupulosity, Padawan."

Obi-Wan tucked hands into opposite sleeves and squinted in the glare of midday sun outside the Temple's public docking bay. He knew far better than to argue when the Jedi master was in this sort of mood. And it was… disturbing… that New Apsolon was in possession of encryption techniques that defied even the Temple's most skilled technicians.

Presently, the assigned air car slipped through the cavernous opening and deposited its passengers on the pedestrian walkway. Paaxi Derrida gazed about the huge hangar in awe, vaguely holding out one long arm to assist his wife as she clambered out of the vehicle to stand beside him.

"Jedi-Gon! Obawan!" the ebullient Phinidan hollered when he had collected his wits. "So this is the famous Temple! Pretty shoddy place… not so, I lie! Makes anything on Phindar look like a shanty-town, so!"

Obi-Wan hung back, wondering whether he might avoid the obligatory crushing embrace, but Kaadi seized him in a firm grip despite his evasive maneuvers, clamping him to her ample bosom with great strength.

It set his still-healing shoulder on fire, but he kept his colorful exclamation locked away inside the privacy of his own thoughts, falling into step one pace behind Qui-Gon as they proceeded into the Temple proper.

"So, no chance of buying time-share on this property?" Paaxi inquired, round orange eyes taking in the inlaid marble floors and the soaring columns with an appraising glint. "You know – rent out top floors for honeymoon suite or convention? You Jedi could make a pile of credits, no lie."

Qui-Gon tactfully ignored this avaricious suggestion, ushering the group into a small conference room off the main concourse. He adjusted the slatted window shades with a wave of his hand, sending bold stripes of gold to adorn the pale ceiling. The chamber was one outfitted for the use of non-Jedi visitors, and was therefore provided with ordinary chairs in lieu of the customary mediation pads. Kaadi plopped into one with a small sigh of relief while her husband enthusiastically sent his in a wide spin, grinning like a youngling.

"So, Jedi friends, what service can my humble self provide to the esteemed Order? Paazzah delivery, I am guessing – not so, I lie." He tapped his forehead. "Something to do with our anti-register, I think, is it not so?"

Qui-Gon sat down opposite their enthusiastic guests, signaling his apprentice to do the same. "We are in possession of a highly important data matrix which we are thus far unable to decrypt. It contains extremely confidential information, which properly belongs to a sovereign planet in another sector."

Paaxi's grin widened into an immense tooth-lined canyon. "You are stealing government secrets from other worlds, Jedi-Gon? A brainstorm I am having, Kaadi my love – we contract with this planet to unsteal from the Jedi and collect twice the fees. Genius, so?"

But his more sober-minded wife merely rolled her eyes at him. "You amaze me, my husband – not so, I lie!" She turned to Obi-Wan. "Giddy, being a father to be makes him, no lie. Ignore."

A cautious smile met this pronouncement. Obi-Wan caught his mentor's eye, hoping that the unpredictable Derridas would not make good on the threat to double cross the Order. Qui-Gon shook his head, in gentle reassurance.

"Let us discuss terms, then. Suppose your anti-register is able to unlock this matrix. What is your fee schedule for such services?"

Kaadi leaned back. "Free for you – not so, I lie! Paaxi and I have many mouths to feed, now, so! How much are you willing to pay, Jedi-Gon?"

The Jedi master was not so easily fooled. "I am authorized to meet a reasonable offer."

Paaxi twisted his arms in to a double knot. "Reasonable, he says! We are charging on a sliding scale, Jedi-Gon." His expressive eyes encompassed the lavish architectural surroundings with a calculating air. "And I am thinking Jedi are on the high end of the scale, so!"

The tall man spread his hands. "Indeed? I can assure you, not one of us owns more than we are able to carry on our persons. You are bargaining with paupers."

Kaadi snorted. "Enough haggling, so. We will charge the same as we did to Yovvox 6 last year. Fair that is, no lie. And if you refuse to pay, take Obawan for collateral we will – so, no lie!"

The young Jedi raised a brow and scooted his chair backward a half-meter, to facilitate a quick escape. The Phindians guffawed merrily, slapping hands against their knees.

"Agreed." Qui-Gon stood. "Shall we proceed to the communications center? Ban Yaro will provide you with the matrix and a suitable work space. And if there is anything else you require, Obi-Wan will be happy to supply it."

Kaadi threaded one long arm through the Padawan's elbow. "Good," she declared. "Starving I am, ready to faint – just so! Bring me to some food, Obawan, or the job will never get done."

"True! Save my wife, so!" Paaxi chortled. "And save me the expense of feeding her, so!"

Qui-Gon's quietly amused glance and subtle nod dismissed his apprentice and the Phindian woman to the lower level refectory as he shepherded Paaxi away to the Temple's comm center, where the mysteries of the Absolutes lay waiting to be unveiled.

* * *

Kaadi Derrida proved herself a worthy rival of any junior Padawan when it came to the matter of vittles. She polished off four heaping platefuls of stew and bread before pronouncing her insatiable appetite reasonably satisfied, and then leaned back in her seat to regard her gracious companion.

"So, this is where all the Jedi are eating," she observed, waving a hand about. "Even the tiny babies, so?"

Obi-Wan set his tea down. "Not the _smallest_ ones. But anyone over five standard, really."

"So small," Kaadi sighed, resting her chin in her hands. "No families for the tiny ones? Everybody raised in common, so?"

She made it sound _cruel…_ He frowned slightly, reminding himself that focus determined reality and that experience could be a blindfold as much as a source of wisdom. "Yes," he answered, neutrally. "It is a good way to live."

The Phindian watched him with liquid amber eyes. "But no mothers, Obawan… breaks my heart, so! What about you? You don't have a mother, either."

Well…. Not…. "No. I promise you, we _are_ happy. It is best this way."

Wasn't it?

Of course it was.

"And no having children, no weddings ever, none of that for you. Sounds happy to me – not so , I lie!" She offered him a smile of purest sympathy, which he found oddly vexing. There was no need for pity; indeed, there was nothing to complain of. "No families for Jedi ever, never never in history?"

He shifted testily. "There used to be dispensations – different customs – but over time, that was revealed to be unwise. Our tradition takes the long view," he tried to explain. "And you must remember our lives are not… ordinary. It would not be fair to _anyone_ if special attachments were allowed. Imagine your life if Paaxi were constantly heading into danger, possibly never to return."

Kaadi was outraged at the very suggestion. "I would kill him, so!" she declared, adamant. "A family he has, no lie – irresponsible."

"And there are other reasons, too," he added, subdued. Orrisk's image flashed before his mind, leering at him in mockery, a reminder of the heart's fallibility, of the predatory Dark waiting in ambush for those who strayed to close to passion's borders. "Marriage – love as you understand it – that would be _dangerous_ for us."

This Kaadi grasped easily. "So, Obawan, so! Marriage is a scary thing, so! No sane person would undertake it, I do not lie!" she exclaimed, grinning.

He shrugged. "Well, then, we agree on fundamentals."

But the Phindian woman was not deceived. She favored him with another pitying smile and heaved herself upright on a long breath. "Time to help Paaxi before he makes a mess of things, so," she decided. "No need to show the way, Obawan, I know my way around this maze already- not so, big lie! I would be lost forever without your help."

"This way." He had to admit, as he led the way through the Temple's labyrinthine halls and passages, that he felt a degree of relief at the awkward conversation's end.

* * *

"Master Qui-Gon," the ancient Jedi grumbled, leaning on his gnarled stick. "Both pleasure and surprise it is. A long time has it been since my counsel you sought."

The tall Jedi bowed his respect and crossed the threshold at Yoda's imperious invitation, a curt waving of the gimer stick. Shadow and light striped walls and floor; he settled upon one of the two meditation pads in the otherwise bare room.

It took the old one some time to clamber onto his own seat and arrange stiff joints and fraying robes to his satisfaction. Qui-Gon waited patiently, knowing that the fussy spectacle was but a smokescreen to cover a subtle and thorough mental probe. He allowed the ancient master's mind to slide over his foremost thoughts and a worry without objection – resistance was, after all, more or less futile.

"Ahh," the shriveled green Jedi snorted at last. "Padawan troubles. More grey hairs is the boy giving you, eh?" He chuckled merrily at his own joke, the white wisps crowning his own crenellated skull seeming to dance a mocking jig as his head bobbed and swayed in mirth.

The tall man folded his hands in his lap. "He has formed a romantic attachment."

"What?" Yoda's ears perked up. "This is all?" He waved a dismissive claw. "End it, you must. Foolish distraction."

"Master," Qui-Gon insisted, leaning forward. "Hear me out."

"No!" harrumphed the Grand Master. "Hear you I need not. Foolish distraction it is, for young, dangerous distraction for old. Think you heed your words he will not? Then discipline your own heart, Master Jinn. Your role it is to teach; your role demands of you this much."

Bristling, the subject of this address sat straight again, face stilled into a cold impassivity. "I seek your advice, not your censure. We have spoken of this many times. I now ask on behalf of my apprentice."

A mistake. The old master's gimlet eyes narrowed. "So two Codes are there now, one for master and one for Padawan? Teach as you like, Qui-Gon Jinn, but teach not hypocrisy."

"I understand," he responded, coolly, the insult stinging like a welt.

Yoda's voice dropped to a gravelly baritone. "Hope so, I do. Little time left to learn this lesson, have you."

Another welt, a burning line of pain. Anger flickered near the surface of his control and was swiftly reined in. When he spoke, his voice was tight with suppressed resentment. "So you have no insight to offer me?"

"Insight?" The ancient Jedi hopped down from his pad and stumped about the inlaid floor, his stick clacking harshly with each arthritic step. "Hmm, insight you want? Give it, I will. Teach this to your Padawan you will, Qui-Gon, whether you wish to or not. Words you need not – words you possess not. By example will you give instruction. Whether you find detachment or pain, whether you succeed or not, wisdom will you impart. The Force – speak through you it can. Even through your suffering, if listen not to its voice you will."

The tall man's heart twisted within him, as it had not done in nigh on a decade. "Master-"

The stick slammed into polished marble with a resounding crack. "Worry not for your Padawan do I." One clawed digit rose to point at his face. "Worry for _you_, I do."

Rising, Qui-Gon bowed. "Thank you," he grunted, retreating as hastily as dignity permitted.

* * *

"A word with you, Padawan."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened as he slid out of the data terminal's chair and stood to make a formal bow. "Master Gallia. Of course. Please excuse me, I simply need to shut down this file." He closed the language tutorial program and gathered his wits on a long indrawn breath. He did not need Force-inspired premonition to discern the content of their intended discussion.

Adi led the way out of the Archives and down the sun-drenched concourse, the colossal ovoid windows spilling radiance upon a floor worn smooth by countless generations, the passing of pilgrims back and forth from the repository of recorded wisdom. At the far end of the same concourse was an entrance to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, grotto of the Living Force. The two sanctuaries formed a balance of opposites, a counterpoint of perspectives within the universal.

Obi-Wan watched his own shadow lengthen and transform in the elliptical pools of light upon the inlaid marble, his silhouette rendered grotesque by the sun's shaping rays.

Adi Gallia paused in mid-stride, her striking blue eyes regarding him inquisitively. He realized that she had just asked him a question, and that his attention had been caught egregiously wandering. "I – forgive me, master. My mind was elsewhere." A youngling's mistake, a mortifying admission.

But she smiled gently. "There has been much on all of our minds since Apsolon," she assured him. "I asked whether you would walk with me in the arboretum."

"Oh. Yes." He fell into step beside her as they crossed the last stretch of hall and passed into the humid hush of the meditation gardens. Life erupted quietly around them, sprouting and crawling ever upward, ascending to the light that showered down from vast overhead illuminators. The sound of cascading water wove all other noise into its own timeless melody.

"You have been a good friend to Siri," the Tholothian told him, when they had set out along a wide footpath running the perimeter of the arboretum.

Obi-Wan dipped his head, suddenly aware that he was _taller_ than the Jedi master pacing beside him. It was a strange sensation, one he observed and then released into the Force, wondering when such an odd reversal had occurred. "The inverse would be closer to the truth, master," he replied.

Adi watched a cluster of moths flit away at their approach. "The Council has granted me permission to take Siri on a six week retreat. We will be heading to one of the Order's waystations, to meditate and study. I think you will understand why this is needed. My Padawan was sorely mistreated during our last mission. We require more time to recover."

He was aware now of her eyes resting upon him, of her minute scrutiny. He nodded again, breathing out the faint aftershock of emotion. "Yes, I understand. She – well, I know what happened."

They walked on, hesitating beneath the shade of the yarbanna grove. Adi fixed him with a penetrating look, though one softened by a light of gratitude. "I am aware that there is a … personal matter…between you and my apprentice," she said at last.

His cheeks and ears were instantly burning. He could not meet her gaze steadily, his own eyes dropping to the moist gravel of the path and then rising to meet her unflinching stare again, a jumbled knot of denial and explanation dying upon his lips. When had he learned to fear the truth? "Yes," he answered, bracing himself for a flat condemnation. He would accept it courteously, for it was deserved.

But Adi Gallia issued no rebuke, as was her right. "I would ask you this, Padawan Kenobi – settle this matter with her before we leave. You and she must come to a mutual resolution."

He remembered to exhale, surprise temporarily robbing him of words. "I – I understand, master. We will… I should speak to her. Soon."

"Good." Adi serenely nodded and resumed her peregrination around the tranquil garden's outer terraces. "I trust the two of you to make a worthy and honorable decision, Obi-Wan."

* * *

Qui-Gon halted in the doorway. "What are you doing?"

"Settling my affairs." Tahl quietly directed her chair to the center of the room and deposited a small load of holobooks and other objects of little material value upon the low table. "I'm… changing quarters soon. No need for all this junk."

He crossed the room and fingered a pile of cream and brown cloth, grey eyes traveling slowly over the table's contents, the sum total of a Jedi's personal possessions, besides the 'saber Tahl still stubbornly carried at her side: a few holobooks and a datareader, clothing, field gear, a small holocron, a rock, a _merssil_ pod from Imega 6, a chipped cup. The latter items were all gifts from Qui-Gon.

Tahl lifted the cup into the air with a wave of her hand. "Keep that for me, Qui, will you?"

His broad hand closed about the delicate porcelain with infinite tenderness.

"The clothing and gear can go back to the quartermaster's stores, books and such to the Archives or the classrooms. I'm putting the rock and the _merssil_ in the arboretum, by the fountain. You know the one I mean." She stopped, bittersweet emotion playing over her haggard face. "It seemed fitting."

Qui-Gon stood transfixed, well beyond speaking.

Tahl's chin lifted. "And my 'saber comes with me," she added, gravely. "Though…. I've taken the crystal out." She searched in a pocket, then held out the glittering turquoise shard upon one unsteady palm. "Here. You had better take this too…. I want you to give it to Obi-Wan. When I'm gone."

He accepted the proffered gift and wordlessly stowed it in his own tunic pocket, pain carving deep grooves in his forehead and around his eyes.

"Tahl –" he choked out, at last.

"I've come to peace with death long ago, Qui… it is time you did as well."

He knelt then, bringing them nearly level, and buried his face upon her knees, hair falling upon the folds of her thick blanket. A palsied hand reached out to stroke through the silver-fretted strands.

"How long?"

She unbound the tie behind his head and carded fingers through the loosened hair. "Weeks. A month. However so long the Force wills."

His silence was a broken eloquence.

"Qui… promise me you will take care of Obi-Wan."

His voice came muffled through soft folds. "He is my Padawan – why would I not-"

Her shaking fingers twisted in his long mane. "Just promise me, on your oath. Do not fail in this. See his training through to its end – no matter what. For my sake, if for nothing else."

There was no need to reiterate an oath already taken, but he vowed it again, for her sake, and his own, and that of his apprentice. And when she was satisfied, he knelt long at her feet, and poured out his heart to the Force that demanded so absolute a devotion, even to the uttermost limits of human endurance.


	28. Chapter 28

**Lineage VII**

* * *

**Chapter 28**

_This chapter is for Valairy Scot, who patiently served as beta reader and invaluable editorial resource for the entire thing, but this part most of all. If you like it, thank her – for I surely lack words to express my own gratitude._

* * *

Obi-Wan gingerly rolled his shoulder, clenching his teeth a bit as a renewed flare of pain shot down his arm and back. "Blast it."

But his hasty reinforcement of mental shields was not swift enough to deceive Qui-Gon Jinn.

"Let me see that," the tall Jedi master commanded, pointing to one of the meditation pads in their quarters. He dropped to one knee, spreading a broad hand along his apprentice's back near the shoulder blade. "You've been overdoing it," came the predictable reproof. "Ben To is going to have your head."

The young Jedi closed his eyes gratefully as a wave of healing warmth spread outward from the point of injury. "It's that star-forsaken kata every evening," he grumbled.

Qui-Gon raised a brow. "_And_ the illicit sparring sessions with Knight Spruu and Master Drallig. Do not think I have been so busy elsewhere that I don't know what you are up to… and now you've reaped the consequence of imprudence. I should ban you from the salles entirely until this is _fully_ healed."

"But-"

"Do not plead boredom, Padawan, or I will _find_ ways for you to occupy your spare time."

Obi-Wan wisely held his peace, letting some of his simmering frustration seep outward into the Force, where it was swiftly smoothed into the universal currents.

"Better," Qui-Gon decided, standing. "I think tea is in order before we retire –"

He cocked an eyebrow and turned to the apartment's door as the chime was sounded. Before either of them could speak or raise a hand to release the lock, the portal slid open to admit a most unexpected visitor.

Instantly, Obi-Wan was on his feet and making a formal bow beside his mentor.

"Master," they greeted the newcomer in unison.

Yoda stumped his way into the sparsely furnished chamber, the rap of his cane muffled by the thin yarbanna-weave rug in the room's center. "Tea," he grunted imperiously, sliding onto the empty pad and glowering up at Qui-Gon.

The tall man gave a curt nod and retreated to the miniscule kitchen nook. "Yarba, Qui-Gon," Yoda commanded. "Silpa, tarine – like these I do not." Fussing, he laid his cane aside and arranged his fraying robes about his knobbly knees. One hoary claw pointed up at the Padawan. "Smirk not at me, young one. Sit here. Talk we will."

"I'm sorry, master." Alarmed by the ancient Jedi's foul mood and not daring to disobey, Obi-Wan settled upon the opposite cushion, watching Yoda's face warily.

"Council meeting tomorrow morning," the Grand master told them. "Attend, both of you will."

They exchanged a sober glance as Qui-Gon knelt to serve Yoda his tea. The ancient one sipped at his bowl with wrinkled lips, gimlet eyes half-hooded.

"The Derridas succeeded in breaking the data matrix encryption, then?" Obi-Wan inquired, astounded once again by the Phindians' misdirected genius.

"Yes. Bad news there is," Yoda admitted, ears drooping. "Treason and conspiracy. Good it is, Qui-Gon, that you discovered this so soon."

They sat in silence, waiting for him to elaborate, but no further revelations were forthcoming. Obi-Wan accepted his own serving of tea, cradling the hot ceramic bowl between his hands, where the suffusing warmth might mitigate the cold crawling up his spine, the icy fingers of premonition stroking and tickling at the back of his mind.

"Focus," Yoda chided him, sharply. "Speak we must, Obi-Wan. Watching you, I have been. Distracted, preoccupied you are. Know I do, what it is that weighs on your heart."

Startled, he risked an upward glance. "You do?"

This provoked an impatient snort. "Eight hundred fifty years and you think me blind? Seen _this_ foolishness many times, I have."

The Padawan swallowed down his pained objections. "Yes, master."

Yoda thrust a single blunt digit at him. "Great potential you have. In need of you, the Order may be. Waste not your energy on _base passion."_

Surely the tea bowl in his hands could not be any hotter than the blood coursing so swiftly into his face. Obi-Wan's chest tightened in outrage, in mortification. "Master! I have not – I have never – I promise you, I honor the Code at all times. I –"

The ancient troll cackled in amusement, ears perking up on either side of his head. "Speak not of _dalliance, _do I," the old one chuffed. "Such indulgence - easy to correct, it is. Master Jinn would _teach_ you better, I think." His green eyes slid down to rest upon his gimer stick, clear meaning in their limpid depths. "Speak I do of more difficult matters. Custody of the heart."

"Oh… yes, master."

Yoda watched him intently, saying nothing more.

Obi-Wan could not help squirming where he sat, just a bit. "I – I understand," he said, miserably, wishing the ancient master would simply strike the killing blow and move on.

"Aspire you do, to be Knight of this Order, above all else," Yoda observed, dispassionately. "Know this I do. Trust you, I do, to cleave to that path. Only one road is there, Padawan, and narrow it is – wide enough for one to lead and one to follow. No more."

"What is it I must do?" the young Jedi asked, miserably.

"Nothing," the wisened old master declared, voice rasping, but not unkindly. His piercing gaze softened with something akin to pity. "No command do I issue. Your own choice this must be. But choose wisely: one step off this narrow path, and into Darkness you will fall." He set his cup down and clambered to the floor, leaning heavily upon his stick. "Now. Wasted enough time we have." He tottered to the door, hesitating one last time in the threshold, white-crowned head twisted over one bent shoulder. "May the Force be with you both."

And then he was gone, the Force weighted with time's legacy, with the heavy silt of wisdom deposited over long centuries.

Obi-Wan sat, motionless, a strange resentment rising within him. It was too much, too soon, one demand too many heaped upon his besieged heart, grief glutting itself on him even as he struggled to keep his head above the waters of _attachment._ And his master – Qui-Gon, who stood there so solemn and glib while Yoda spoke of _narrow paths—_ had he not forged for himself a secret pass, a trail blazed with characteristic defiance across tradition's high peaks, a way to circumvent the agony he so calmly condemned his own student to suffer?

Where was the _guidance_ in that? Where was the _authority?_

"Drink your tea," Qui Gon softly urged his apprentice, when the ancient Jedi had long since disappeared.

But Obi-Wan merely rose to his feet, paced across the room with thunderous determination and carefully poured the cold and bitter brew down the disposal. He set the empty cup upon the counter and turned, feet planted in battle stance. "I've had enough," he quietly declared, voice thrumming low with tightly leashed emotion.

The tall man folded his arms, chin coming up in salute. "On the contrary, you have barely tasted it yet."

The younger man's brows rose, meeting the challenge head-on. "If you have drunk your fill, master, then do not chide me for growing weary of the same."

Qui-Gon closed the space between them, mouth thinning as he looked down upon his coldly furious apprentice. "I would not wish the same bitterness upon you."

"That's what _she _said."

Tahl's name hung unspoken, howling in the Force between them , a shared lamentation.

Qui-Gon inhaled deeply. "You asked her. Behind my back."

"I asked her, and she told me, master."

"That was not your place, Obi-Wan. You trespass gravely upon my trust by prying into her- our- affairs."

The word _trust_ lashed like a razored whip, a brand searing across their bond, a place where old pain flared anew, doubt marching in its train.

"You trespass gravely upon _my _trust by concealing such a thing," Obi-Wan countered, yet more softly, every word enunciated with dangerous clarity. "You bid me avoid that which you embrace, and counsel an obedience your own heart will not brook. You tell me that words are but the echo of deed and understanding; am I now to set my compass by mere words while you reserve _wisdom_ to your own sole privilege? Forgive me if I wandered too far into the realm of your own defiance; without your _example_, I must find my own way as best I can."

The Jedi master's hands slammed onto the counter's edge to either side of his Padawan, gripping hard at the curved surface. Pinned in place with his back to a wall, the older man looming threateningly close, Obi-Wan did not yield, returning his master's infuriated stare with unflinching fire.

"_Brat."_ There was no jest in the familiar term.

"_Hypocrite."_ The accusation flew from his lips as though of its own accord.

Qui-Gon's hand came up, lightning fast; Obi-Wan closed his eyes, bracing for the well- deserved blow.

But none came. There was a soft exhalation, the Force full of an unexpected grief and weariness, the compounded bruises of a heart already battered by looming loss. Instead of an open-handed strike, Qui-Gon's fingers brushed against the Padawan's braid, gently, and then rested on a trembling shoulder.

"I am an old fool, Padawan."

"No, master – I-"

"Do not apologize. Come. This discussion is long overdue." He shepherded the younger man back into the adjacent room, where they settled again upon the round cushions, the Force rolling their stormclouds away into its supernal luminance, into the ocean of the living present.

"Master Tahl told me," Obi-Wan repeated. "I am sorry. I had to know."

Qui-Gon nodded gravely. "You do. I should have told you myself, before now. I never imagined that your path would lead you to the same dilemma. Certainly not so soon… In that, I was unwise."

The Padawan gathered his composure on a long indrawn breath. "I love her," he said, simply, the boundless plea, the pang of terrible understanding sonorous in his tone.

"I am sorry," Qui-Gon responded. "For your suffering – for that is what such devotion means. There is great truth in all you have been taught."

The younger man's brows quirked together. "But you chose-"

"We chose nothing. Jedi cannot formalize a bond. Nor speak openly of it. Nor live as life-mates. Nor nurture a family. Nor take action or make choice of duties to accommodate such mutual need. Nor cherish hope of the other's well-being, or survival, beyond that which the Force allows. There is _nothing_ to choose, Obi-Wan."

"But you still …. You are _honest._ With each other."

The Jedi master rested his hands on his knees, exhaling slowly. "It means great pain, Padawan. It would be easier – far, far easier – to renounce all such feelings."

But they both knew that the easy path was not a temptation. Qui-Gon had taught that lesson all too well.

Obi-Wan studied his folded hands and then looked up, pain already brimming in twin blue pools. "I will do as you say. If you forbid it… I will obey, master."

"No," Qui-Gon softly answered. "This is yours to choose. I have given you my advice. But I will not impose it upon you as a command, for I have forfeited the right. Only choose well, Padawan. Do not make the same mistake as your foolish master."

But even as he spoke the words, he knew that fate would not be so merciful.

* * *

Seldom was Coruscant subject to weather patterns besides mild sunshine and moderate temperatures; the orbital meteorological regulators saw to that. But today was a scheduled precipitation; the planet's scattered clouds had been manipulated by artificial pressure fronts into lowering themselves over the first through seventh primary districts in a glowering blanket.

The first drops spattered against the Council tower's windows as Master Windu brought the session to order. Obi-Wan watched the rivulets run crookedly down the convex transparisteel as the Korun master expounded the Phindians' findings, detailing the contents of the stolen data matrix. The words were of grave import, each ensuing revelation worse than the next, a nightmarish parade of unlikely connections.

"Disturbing," Yoda summed up.

"More than disturbing," Mace growled. "We are looking at an interplanetary conspiracy to form an economically and functionally independent federation within the Republic's borders. The Techno Union stands in violation of countless laws by supplying these people with weapons and vehicles; the government of Apsolon has committed egregious crimes against its own citizenry; Telos and the other investors are to be censured for their involvement in such an illegal and perfidious scheme, and above all…. The leadership of this _movement _has been established beyond doubt by these transmission records and confidential files."

An uneasy stirring swept about the Council chamber as all present exchanged worried glances. In the room's center, Qui-Gon, Adi, and their Padawans stood in a tight cluster of expectation.

"You have not yet told us who is responsible," Qui Gon pointed out.

Mace nodded his head, and the window blinds lowered smoothly, masking the driving rain behind opaque panels. The chamber was cloaked in darkness.

"A traitor, he is known to be. A murderer also. But now, into utter depravity has he sunk," Yoda rasped, activating the ceiling-mounted holoprojector.

Adi and Qui-Gon stepped apart, permitting the flickering image to appear between them, a blue effigy standing proud and unabashed in the midst of his peers, an echo of the memorial pillars on Apsolon.

"Syfo-Dyas!" Obi-Wan exclaimed aloud, contrary to protocol. His eyes stayed riveted on the moving hologram of the rogue Jedi master. "This is all his doing?"

His outburst earned him one or two stern looks, but Mace Windu merely nodded.

"The Absolutes' attempt to torture information regarding current Jedi security codes and way-station coordinates form Master Gallia demonstrates that his ambition extends to the very foundations of the Order. He has become an _enemy_ of the Jedi, not merely the Republic," the dark-skinned master intoned, gravely. "He must be _stopped_."

"And he shall be," a smooth voice answered, from the circle's opposite side. At ease in his chair, Yan Dooku sat and regarded the image of the former Jedi shadow with elegant contempt, his silver brows lowering dangerously over his glittering eyes. "He has become a very great danger."

"Indeed," Mace concurred.

Obi-Wan glanced in alarm at Qui-Gon, but the tall man merely flicked his grey eyes in his apprentice's direction and turned his attention back to the Councilors.

Yoda grasped the gnarled end of his stick between both clawed hands. "So it must be," he agreed. "The Council must approve."

A solemn nodding of heads and soft murmuring of _ayes_ followed this grave pronouncement.

Dooku stood and bowed. "I will see to it. He will, of course, be difficult to corner."

"The Order's full resources are at your disposal," Mace told the Serrenoan master. "This has become our most pressing priority. It has been a long time since a lapsed member of the Order has undertaken folly on this scale. It does not bode well for the Republic that such atrocities can fester undetected in its midst. We are become blind and complacent."

Yoda grumbled his agreement, ears drooping. "Confidential must this information remain for now. Report to the Chancellor and the Senate we shall when action has been taken. This threat – stop it we must before larger it grows. Already, remiss have we been."

Mace folded his hands. "Now is the time to act, not to engage in discussion. May the Force be with us all."

Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon out of the dim chamber and into the lift tube, his mind in a dazed whirl. When they were issued into the soaring hall at teh tower's base, and were once again alone, he struggled to voice his stunned disbelief.

"Master…Has – did I misunderstand – or did the Council authorize Master Dooku to…"

Qui-Gon's eyes betrayed the answer.

"So he will not try to capture him. Even though he is a Jedi."

"He is no Jedi, Obi-Wan," the tall man replied grimly. "It is necessary."

Obi-Wan halted in mid stride, staring intently at the older man, instinctual horror and ruthless rational comprehension at war in his eyes.

"Yes, master," he murmured at last, after a weighted pause. "And the secret federation Master Yoda spoke of… I have a bad feeling about it, too."

Qui-Gon sighed as they resumed walking."As do we all. I fear we have come to a crisis in the Republic's history. Events will be slow to develop and unfold – if Syfo-Dyas can be destroyed – but my instincts tell me that even that will only mark the beginning of something larger."

Surprised, his apprentice raised his brows. "Then we have the _same_ bad feeling."

"I am afraid so, young one. But for now –"

"…Yes, master," Obi-Wan muttered. "The present moment."

"Where your focus belongs," Qui-Gon gently finished. His voice softened further, conveying a measure of compassion blended with firm counsel. "I think there is at least one more thing you must do, Padawan, before this day comes to its end."

* * *

He did not have to send a message, nor issue any summons. She came of her accord, as though she already knew, as though it was the Force itself that dictated the time and the place.

And perhaps it was.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was a place of textured veils at night, the darkened paths picked out in faint starlight by twinkling constellations of glow-lamps, tiny points of fire amid the rumbling music of the falls and the streams.

They walked side by side, along the gravel path, the nebula twisting along their private ecliptic, a meandering road leading only further inward, to the center of a secret labyrinth. Their fingers wound together, and then clasped. Their footfalls softened to the barest whisper and then stopped altogether, still beneath the thundering falls at the garden's very heart. Here the only lights were those reflected dimly in the depths of the churning pool, a pantheon of forgotten divinities peering out of time's depths.

In the dark, their breaths mingled and then merged as they drank a libation poured over a forbidden altar, a taste of intoxicating wine not mellowed by age nor jaded by long experience.

And when they at last drew separate breaths, the drowned stars still gazed expectantly at them as they stood in the brink of the black pool, beneath the cold spray of the dizzying falls. Destiny toppled over their high ridge, plummeting gracefully to its own perpetual destruction, sacrificed without beginning or end.

Siri Tachi found her voice first. "We're leaving at dawn."

He tucked her dangling braid behind her ear. "I know. Master Gallia told me… and I checked the vehicle requisitions schedule."

She leaned into him, their arms mutually encircling the other. "We will be called off on assignment after that.. she spoke of a journey mission – humanitarian aid – it could be months, years –"

He pulled her closer still, lips brushing her temple, eyes closed. "It will be – years." He swallowed. "I know it."

Siri's fingers twisted in his tunics, bunching the rough-woven cloth. "You've seen it? The Force told you?"

Pressed against her, swaddled in the misting dark, he could feel the taut stretch of muscle beneath his hand, the soft-hard curve above her hip, the dip of her spine just above her belt, the oceanic swell of her lungs. Her hair curled in the moist air, tickling his nostrils. The world was incensed with chiming music, with mandrangea blossoms.

"We should.. we can't, Obi-Wan. We have a duty."

"We will do what we must."

She felt for his face, her hand softly tracing over his features, as though seeking the truth, the narrow path between twin chasms of grief and defiance. "You mean…."

He kissed the tips of her fingers as they found his mouth. "I mean that we have to part."

She buried her face against his shoulder. "Then we must pretend this never happened – never speak of it – not even remember or think of it – "

"No, Siri."

The falls roared, the streams burbled and danced, the mist swirled, a phantasmic and ethereal witness to a perilous vow.

"No? We can't act on this…. they won't change the rules for us – there is no way we can be together. You know it, as well as I do. We've been deceiving ourselves if we ever hoped otherwise."

"Siri…" He clung to her, cherishing that which must be renounced, holding that which must be yielded over to the Force. "We can't be together… but I won't live an untruth. I won't deny what happened… what still is, between us."

"Oh, _ben'ke…_ my heart will break," she whispered.

He slipped a hand into his inner tunic pocket and found the stone there, warm against his skin, pulsing faintly within the mourning Force. "Here… Siri. Take this and keep it." He pressed his most precious possession - his first inheritance, his last refuge, a thing attuned to the Light and the Light alone - into her hand, closing her fingers over it with his own. "Safeguard it for me."

"You can't give me this…. you shouldn't."

"I already have."

The river stone nestled close against her breast, one heart cleaving unto another. "So… this is goodbye," she rasped. "Until… someday. Or maybe forever."

They sank to their knees together, the weight of sacrifice overburdening them, hands still entwined, foreheads barely touching. The falls thundered behind them, bathing them in glittering dew, adorning their cloaks in delicate finery.

"What do we say?" Siri asked, helplessly. There was no rite dedicated to this grave occasion, no sanctified language by which to compact their trust, their aching dissolution.

For a long while they were silent, and then the Force seemed to speak out of the falls' heart, the words of a ceremony as deep-rooted as the tradition which claimed their unfailing allegiance.

"I do pledge myself to the service of the Light, in body, mind and spirit, by the grace and strength of the Force - unto my very death or even beyond."

They stood, purpose binding them to separate paths, to a conjoined solitude. It was ended, and yet not. They flowed together, salt mingling on their cheeks as they exchanged a last solemn salutation - a long and tender exchange of faith, a promise made without condition, without reservation, without the lurking shadow of greed.

And then they stepped apart.

"Farewell, Siri. May the Force be with you."

"And with you, Obi-Wan. Until we meet again."

* * *

When he returned at last to his own quarters – well past midnight – Qui-Gon was waiting for him upon the balcony. Their rooms were swathed in night, in the flitting reflections of distant air traffic, of the waning moon.

He stood at the railing beside the Jedi master, letting the tears flow unchecked. The tall man's hand moved to rest against his forearm, in a mute pledge of solidarity.

Over the city-planet's horizon, the sun still burned, unquenched by her seeming death at each successive twilight. Within their spirits, a greater Light still kindled, life itself, the Force in all its subtle impalpable splendor, immune from loss and grief. Around them, a second shadowed mantle cast over the dark drapes of their cloaks, the future drew near, bearing a young woman away into the stars and an older woman away into the Force itself, never to return.

And they stood, silent but not yet broken, contemplating the ascendancy of night without fear or joy, slowly, painfully learning the bitterest of lessons taught by the Force's guiding hand - master and apprentice together.

**FINIS**


End file.
